


From the embers of the shadows in our pasts (a phoenix will rise)

by gothica_v



Category: Black Sails
Genre: But let me know if you think I should mention some??, F/M, Feel free to volunteer if you feel like it??, I personally never read additional tags, In order to stay unspoiled, M/M, Not Beta Read
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-14
Updated: 2019-03-14
Packaged: 2019-03-31 08:52:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 37,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13971588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gothica_v/pseuds/gothica_v
Summary: Post-Canon. Silver-centered. John Silver is a lost man after having lost Madi. He goes to the only person he knows who understands his loss. And (un)surprisingly, here starts a journey full of love… (In short : It’s +20 years of love(s). It’s past hurts, and growth. It’s tying Black Sails to Treasure Island, somehow. Includes also THE two scenes we’ve been robbed of in 4x10: James/John and Madi/John) (James/Thomas, James/John, John/Madi(past), James/Miranda (past), Miranda&Thomas(past), Thomas&John). If this fic was BS soundtrack: It would be ‘Funeral At Sea’ I guess?Companion piece if you're interested: a collection of canon compliant shorts = "The Memories Chest"





	1. Chapter 1

**PROLOGUE : This is not what I wanted (aka THE scene we were robbed of - 4.10)**

_Feel free to visualize the 'Previously on Black Sails' screen :) :) :)_

/

"This is not what I wanted. But I will stand here with you… for an hour, a day, a year… while you find a way to accept this outcome… so that we might leave here together. For if not… then I must end this another way."

John knows his hand starts trembling. He knows his eyes are near tears. And yet, he sees it in Flint's eyes: Flint believes John will take that shot.

Recognition. Flint knows his motivation, and he knows what it brought himself to do. Hatred is simple. But Love? Love is a much more vicious motivator. It makes you start a war, to avenge someone. It makes you eliminate a threat, to protect someone. It makes you kill - even those you don't want to kill, if they only dare stand in the way...

The worst, though, is to see pity in Flint's gaze, under the rage and disgust - because even if John has his way, today; in the end, they both know John will be losing anyway.

But of course, Flint won't relent. Always fighting, to the end. "You know I can't. Accept this outcome? You know WHY I can't."

"And that's exactly why I hope you will!" John shakes his head as he realizes he sounds in his despair now like a petulant child.

But Flint's eyes surprisingly soften from it somehow. "You can't change my mind. And you know it; isn't it why Morgan is here..." The last of it ends in a whisper, and what it says, and doesn't say, is a blade through John's heart.

John can only weakly refute, aghast and appaled: "No, it's not!" - because even though Morgan, indeed, must be their navigator at some point, it isn't the primary reason for his presence here now.

John takes a breath. He needs to calm down and stay in control. He's aiming a gun at *James*. He  _can't_  afford any mistake.

"This, I swear, is not what I wanted. It was already not anymore what I had originally intended, but it was a simple plan: we would recover the treasure, and then I would tell you, and then the treasure would disappear on my way back to the Island… Why did you have to- Why do you always get what none of the others do… Because now? I tell it to you now, and you won't believe me. But you *have* to believe me."

James looks unsure now. This isn't John's normal way of speaking - even without the stuttering: it's poorly constructed, and all in riddles. John can only hope that James will understand that the growing panick means he is being sincere, actually; just as sincere as he had been that day on that cliff, even when refusing to share his past.

"Thomas is alive."

From the first moment those words had been a possibility, before they turned into a certainty, John had wondered how they would sound when he would say them, and how James would react. But now, they're out, in a single, barely audible breath, and he's not even sure James has heard them at all. He starts again: "Thomas-"

"Don't you fucking dare!"

The Wall, once again, rises instantly. James is nothing but barely contained fury now, and can't refrain from taking another menacing step forward, no matter the gun facing his chest. John knows the warning is real, no hesitation about that. Still, John would be ready to say it, again and again, between the blows he's sure would come; again and again, until James might *hear* the words for what they are, and not for what he thinks they mean. John can't though. Because if they start to fight, Hands will end it, long before James does hear him - John can't see his proclamed guardian, but he's certain he's around.

So. John doesn't repeat himself. He knows James heard him anyway. They eye each other in dreadful silence; and John waits, waits for a sign that the words made their way past Flint's skull and reached James's heart; waits for a sign that James realizes that John has been hinting at this before, that John is not making it up just now as the cruelest weapon ever imagined; waits for a sign that The Wall is crumbling, finally.

"It can't be."

Then only does John lower the gun, and explain.

"When it was just Hands and me… Max tried to kidnap me one night - and told to me later on what she had planned to do with me afterwards. There's a place near Savannah, where she intended to have me locked up; a place where, her words, wealthy London families pay to turn in troublesome family members they wish to make disappear. A place where they're kept, and stop to exist for the outside world. When she told me this… You couldn't bear even the thought of it, and I understood. Hoping would have been too cruel, in case... You couldn't. So  _I_  had to find out. I sent Morgan:  _that's_  why he's still here - in case my word isn't enough."

"It can't be."

"It was a gift. I hoped it could be a gift. But when I learned my hope was actually truth, Madi was-, and then she wasn't, and then you… Nevertheless, when I unburied the cache, I took some out _;_ because if it was giving me Madi back then it should give you Thomas back too. But now: Rackham came, and turned my gift into a bargain; yet at least, at least, I thought it would save your life. Because Rackham and Max found allies in Philadelphia, to make Nassau as free as it can be, without a war, under a seemingly English rule. But before it may start? You were to go - that was their allies's condition. So the only choice was between bad or worse, and I used my knowledge the only way that was left. I convinced him to let me solve this problem for him, in exchange of him backing me up about getting rid of the treasure. We can't buy Thomas out now; you're to be bought in. And I am sorry that this is the only deal I can offer you. But Thomas IS there, James."

James looks at him as a man whose world has been turned upside down and inside out that one time too much. He surely doesn't even realize what John  _does_  realize - that he's just called James by his first name... 'You', or 'Captain', until then, had always been enough. James has never called him 'John' either, by the way... Maybe it's John's despair showing - that he has to insist about the fact that he is talking  _to him_. Maybe it's because he calls him more and more 'James' in his head, as time goes by - especially whenever James looks at him with a vulnerability he barely shows to start with, as right now... Anyway, apparently it doesn't seem to have to mean anything: James hasn't even noticed...

John doesn't even recognize his own voice as he starts begging. "Let me take you there. Please."

"I can't believe you."

"Please!"

"I can't believe you. But I want to. I hate myself for it, but I want to."

And now only does James avert his eyes, declaring forfeit, or seeing things that aren't there before his eyes, who knows…

John feels relief course through his blood, and is oh so thankful for it. "That's enough for me for now. You'll believe me when we get there."

"I'm not giving the treasure up to you though. It is not yours."

John wants to sigh - or maybe laugh: a dark, empty laugh: James just always has to fight. But as long as that chest stays far from Madi's hands, John doesn't really care where it is. He can always tell the men James has sworn to tell its location to him when they arrive in Savannah, and later, well, he'll find something else to tell… Isn't it what it means, being *Long John Silver*?

John still hasn't spotted Hands. There is no time to lose - John has to take profit from James's still shocken state, and have them all leave this forest right now. So John's gun gets up once more, and James, which is devastating, is fucking ignoring it, even when it's aligned with his heart, his head.

"It's not optimal, but I will do without."

The gun pursues his way up. The shot is delivered towards the sky - a call his men can't miss.

"Six days, if the winds favor us. But please keep quiet; I have a show to perform."

/

Six days are long. James turns bitter only a few hours later. He is locked-up and in chains by then (the men wouldn't have it any other way - Rackham's work probably - and James has consented, when John had been the one presenting the manacles). Morgan is the one navigating, and Rackham keep their mixed crews in check on his own as often as John thinks it possible, while John can't help but stay with James in the cabin for much longer periods of time than Hands would like, simply because it's the only way he can think of to ensure that James  _will_  keep quiet. Rackham had seemed happy enough to agree to let John secure the less definitive solution; but he had warned John that he would not hesitate to be expeditive if needed...

James doesn't say anything, but John can feel it, each and every moment they share in silence - the accusation in James's eyes, about having been deceived, and by a coward. He probably thinks that Thomas isn't going to be there, and that John has found a way to make him disappear without actually having to kill him - and probably not even because he wouldn't want to have to live with it, but only because it would be a lie less he would have to tell to Madi. John faces those eyes, and only replies with a plea in his own.

So it's a surprise, when at the end of the fifth day, there seems to be something else, something fragile in James's gaze. But John can only nod, and give James a fragile smile in return.

_(For the record, it took them 8.5 days to reach Savannah…)_


	2. Chapter 2

**I.**

James enters, massaging the back of his sore neck after a long day of work, but a smile on his face nonetheless because he is now *home* - a simple word he still can't believe, even after five years, has become a reality for Thomas and him. And then he freezes.

John is here.

Everything seems to stop as the undeniable reality of such an unexpected fact sinks in – and the only thing it can mean: Madi is dead. John's face tells it all without a word. It's a shock, and a blow, but it just  _is_. James has no idea about the when, nor the how, but it's a truth: John is here, while he never would be otherwise to start with.

Because John is nothing if not  _loyal_ , right to his core. True, when they first had met, James would have thought whoever contemplating such a thought to be a complete fool digging his own grave: Silver was a man with no bounds - to nothing, no place and no one - who would do anything and everything in order not even to thrive but simply to survive. But it had become evident, the more James had started to watch the man instead of watch out for him, and the more James had been allowed to witness glimpses of John under Silver's practiced armor: John hadn't any kind of bounds simply because he had none - but once he would have them? they would be his end.

And so, through their flawed history, through the schiemes, through the blood spilled – by them, between them, for them… – through it all, John hadn't completely left his side. So how could he ever have left  _Madi_ _-_ after having sworn his heart as hers… James knows John would have stayed with her, no matter her unforgiveness, no matter her fury, no matter her sorrow. Hoping, even without hope. Waiting, even not knowing what he was waiting for. His place was at her side, whether she willed it or not to be.

But now, John is here.

In a room he does not wish to be in, sitting tensed, one hand clasped on the back of his chair, the other hand holding onto his crutch as if he's going to change his mind and make his escape any second, eyeing James with both a warning and a plea - a line not to cross: a loss not to name, a grief not to mention, a rage not to unleash, a despair not to acknowledge, and a nonsensical banality not to pronounce (of course James  _is_  sorry for John's loss, but what is the point in saying it). James can't, and won't, say he always understood the man in front of him; but  _this_ , James understands: no need to add salt onto that gaping open wound that is the empty hole in John's chest where SHE used to be.

To be honest, James has wished he would never have to lay his eyes upon John again. It would be  _simpler_. Because he hadn't been sure about how he would react, should their paths cross again. But now that John is actually in front of him? James cannot find it in himself to be anything but  _accepting_.

Time has stopped, and there is no danger-edged tension now between them, only recognition.

There is a discreet cough from the corner of the room behind him, and James realizes that Thomas let John in, knowing more than well enough exactly  _who_  it was he was letting in, and that he might now want a clue about how James intends to deal with the mess of a man who stumbled into their home. Or, more probably, Thomas already knows, and he's just hinting that it is time to start it, whatever "it" might be.

So James simply walks towards John with a sigh, and lays a silent hand, awkward but firm, upon John's shoulder.

John slightly nods – it's impossible to read if he's relieved at the welcome, or if he's thanking him for his silence. But then only do John's eyes avert from James's gaze.

John's head half turns half drops. There is one intake of breath. And then, the tears finally come. Not a stream of them, just the few drops John can't stop from falling (not that he's ashamed of them, not that they might make him appear weak, not that there are no more left to shed because his body is already drained - just because tears are so utterly, utterly pointless, why should they be shed to start with…).

James feels them, one by one, as they land on his hand. He doesn't retrieve it.


	3. Chapter 3

**II.**

And so it begins, with silent understanding.

And so it goes on, day by day. It worries James, the silence - John used to always have something to tell. But Thomas says he must need time, and James can only agree.

And so, it is both a surprise and a relief, when John finally speaks.

The door had been wide open to let fresh air come in, and John had thus walked on them smiling at each other (while Thomas was sitting on a chair and James leaning against the table), nothing more, but he had felt like intruding, judging from his mumbled apology as he had exited. Thomas had motioned he didn't mind, and James has gone after John. He has found him outside, leaning against the wall, staring at the evening sky.

John starts to talk in a low voice when James stops next to him, his eyes still fixed upwards.

"We were happy. For nearly four years, we were happy."

John's head now turns towards him.

"And I owe it to you. Madi once showed me, later on... That letter you had entrusted Ben Gunn to deliver to her? You didn't have to. Surely, after what I had just done, both to you and Thomas, you didn't have to. I know you did it for her, too, but still. Thank you."

John's eyes find the stars once more. John's voice is empty, and is barely more than a breath: "Madi died from childbirth."

And that's when James's heart shatters. Because of all the scenario's leading to Madi's death, this truth is the worst possible one. Because James hears the guilt in John's voice, and even though he recognizes it all too well, he knows there's a huge difference between them: not only has John's loss been double  _right at the same time_  (had the child lived he wouldn't have abandoned him/her), but - even more horrifying - John could only blame himself; while James had been able to turn his rage towards others, and it had been legitimate.

"It wasn't your fault."

An impossible to define (it's not a cry because it's nearly silent, it's not a choke yet it is strangled, it's not a snort yet it is full of contempt, it's all of this at once, and even more) but definitely painful short sound escape from John. But James only repeats it, willing the words to get plastered inside John's skull, no matter how his own voice breaks - both at the realisation that John came here because he thought it fit,  _as a punishment;_  and at the resonating echo, as James remembers those were the words John had told him too, when they had both thought Madi dead at the hand of the Spanish, under his watch... But this time, James would gladly be the one John could blame...

"It wasn't your fault."

/

_My dearest Madi,_

_I know you have no reason to listen to me. I know I betrayed your war, the moment I stopped fighting mine._ _And I am sorry that I just wasn't as strong as I believed to be. But I realize my rage_ _was born from Thomas's disappearance and was muffled by Thomas's return - no matter my losses on the way - while yours goes back centuries; and the amount of death and despair you rage against cannot even start to get counterpointed by one single man - no matter your love for him, which I do not question. I know you hear them, those voices from the past, and from the present, and that you feel responsible, that you do not wish to let them down. But remember that he knew it too, and that he still chose to protect you, the only way he believed he could, and fully knowing what it would cost him. It was, on his part also, a sacrifice. There are lots and lots to say about John Silver, but he is definitely not a fool._

_Do not condemn him for loving you. I agree it was not the right way to show his sentiment: his own peace of mind shouldn't have had to mean yours to be salvaged. It is selfish, and it is wrong. But it doesn't mean it isn't true. It is maybe the only way he is able to love, at least for now. You and I, we've experienced multiple loves, and we've experienced multiple losses. I truly believe he hasn't. You never met the John I first met. You were raised to care and to fight. But him? I've come to believe he had to raise himself, on his own; and it has shaped him, obviously. Caring? Loving? I am persuaded it is all new to him. And the strength and the helplessness of it: it frightens him. So he does the only thing his instincts know - ensuring its survival. He just does not see yet that it cannot survive if encaged by one of its halves._ _You and I,_ _we are able to dream; while he only knows nightmares. We search for the light in the darkness, because we know it exists; while he'd rather stay in the dark - simply because, at least, he knows it. But strange pairs can achieve the most unexpected things. And I do believe he can learn, Madi - because he has started to learn; if only you were willing to be his teacher._

_Besides, he is not the only one deserving of your wrath. I know you will target him, because he embodies both all the hopes you had and all the rage you are now left with. But you will also target him simply because he will still be there to take it, when all the others are going to turn around and follow more promising winds. He truly wasn't the only one opposed to our war, and you know that. Both among the pirates and the slaves, people were opposing us. Most of them, to be honest. Yet we would have found support enough - probably. And we might have had victories - possibly. But a definitive win in the long run? I told Thomas once that someone trying to change the world fails for one simple and unavoidable reason: everyone else. I chose for so long to forget it, when the only thing I could do was fight, because it sustained me - until it exhausted me. But, once more, it doesn't mean it isn't true._

_And that is why I do hope you will give the both of you another chance._ _I_ _owe him my second chance; and despite its cost, I just cannot hold it against him._

_Keep the flame alive, Madi; so that it may grow, and grow, until it has grown so bright that, one day, its reality is inevitable._

_But please, do take care of each other in the meantime,_

_James._


	4. Chapter 4

**III. (Counting the days without her (aka the Silver/Madi moments we were robbed of at the end of 4.10))**

(FLASHBACKS)

ORIGIN:

"You may think what you want of me. I will draw comfort in the knowledge that you're alive to think it. And I will wait. A day... a month... a year... forever... in the hopes that you will understand why I did what I did."

"Get out."

/

DAY 4:

He tries to give her the space she needs, and has stayed clear away from her hut since she sent him out. But the camp just isn't big enough to prevent they meet it seems, as their paths cross, no matter his attempt at avoiding it. The look in her eyes is nothing but expected, but it slices through him all the same. But the worst, still, is to see her pain, even through the fire. And so he slips a note under her door late that night, telling her that he will from now on stay at the cliffs overday, and that she shouldn't worry about seeing him again by accident. It is her home after all.

/

DAY 31:

It feels as if his life is suspended, on hold. The days are long, and the nights even longer. Everything is repetitive; but nothing becomes a blur. Every minute is  _marked_  by her absence, and only adds to the weight of missing her. And it would be so easy, to catch at least a glimpse of her. But she is so close; and yet so unattainable. So John holds his word, and stays away.

John sometimes wonders what James would think, if he could see him now. Would he be satisfied at his suffering? Would he relish on it, viciously whispering "I told you so"? John though can't help but believe that James would only be sorry for him, if anything...

/

DAY 57:

John often wonders about James, and Thomas, and how they are doing. He truly hopes they manage to be happy, somehow, despite the confinement.

At the time, John had only seen the bright sides of it: he wanted Madi safe, and James as safe as he could be, given the situation; Nassau wanted Flint absolutely and undeniably gone; and James, well, James wanted Thomas.

But now that his panick recesses as time goes by, and that he is able to think rationnally again, John sees what he had failed to see then. He sees the hole in the plan, and his pure luck that James didn't have to fall in it. Because John had never even considered what Thomas might want... James's love for Thomas had felt just so grand, so sublime, that John had always taken Thomas's love for James as a given. It had never occured to John, before, that Thomas, in fact, might have chosen - at any point in those devastingly stretching and devastingly empty years - to move on. But John knows the pain now, and the longing. And only now does he truly realizes how LONG all those years apart must have been. More than anything, in retrospect, John is just so damn *relieved*, that Thomas had taken James into his arms with so much obvious  _certainty_ , that day. Because what would have happened with James, if Thomas hadn't, is simply too horrific to contemplate...

And John makes his own choice; each passing day full of her absence anew. Except it's not really a choice, because letting go of his hurt and yearning would mean losing the last part of her he still can have, and it is just... impossible.

/

DAY 86:

The kids have come around, again. They want stories, and he obliges them. It feels nice to see them smile, to hear them laugh, to feel them hanging on his every words. It had started with one story to console a (not badly) wounded kid, on day 37. The next time he had come, he had brought along his best friend. The time after it, his little sister. And right before leaving, he had told John that he had seen Madi that morning in the mainstreet, and had described her attire and the way she had tied her hair. John had been obviously touched by the gesture. By now it is a gathering of eight, about once a week. And they never leave without giving him some news about her. John knows he hangs on their words too...

/

DAY 102:

"John Silver."

Madi. Is. Here.

Madi. Came.

There is something meaningful, always, in the way she speaks his full name; something that no one else achieves - because he likes it when she says it; something that feels quintessentially hers... And he feels like crying, right now, just from having heard her voice. He needs a moment before getting up and turning towards her. There is no immediate danger, but this moment is going to shape is whole future, and in a way, it is the most frightening moment of his life - and there have been plenty.  _She came_ , finally. But he doesn't know yet why she came, and cannot afford to be too hopeful. She might have come just as well to finally tell him to leave her island: he gets food and shelter, while doing nothing but sit here all day after all...

He turns towards her and his breath catches in his throat. The sight of her is both a joy and a knife, and he is paralized.

She looks serious, and doesn't come any closer. John feels the blade slicing through his guts, but is drawn to her just the same. He makes the necessary steps faster than he should, he realizes, if those are the last moments he has with her. But he can't help it.

"Madi."

His voice sounds foreign in his own ears; strained from unuse, and trembling from nerves.

She's apparently surprised at his tan - shades darker than usual - and there is a sad but undeniable fondness in her voice as she can't refrain from chastising him: "Of all the places on this island, you had to choose the one without shadows to pass your days?"

It clenches at his heart, and he can only exhale: "Well, it's the best place to spot incoming ships."

She seems surprised for a second; but it passes quickly, and he thinks she understood, again, that she is is priority - in everything he does. And if it means surveying for any English or Spanish war ship approaching, then he does it.

She lowers her eyes an instant, as if hesitating... Then her eyes find his again.

"Do you have any regrets, about the choices you made on that day?"

And John knows this is a test he will not pass. Because it would be easy to elude, to tell regrets were pointless as they changed nothing anyway; as James used to. Or it would be easy to lie, to tell her what she must want to hear; as he had used to. But he has never lied  _to her_ , and he doesn't think he ever could. Besides, she expects an answer, and only the truth will do, if anything is to get mended between them, in time.

"Regrets... I know I feel guilty, both towards you and towards him; and even towards a man I do not even know... I didn't see any other way, at the time. But now, I can't help but wonder if I shouldn't have trusted him enough to stay away. He fell apart, Madi. And he trusted  _him_  to be fixed. The more I think about it, the less I see how he would have been able to risk anything past that point, to endanger him once more... Flint  _did_  disappear, that day. Maybe... Maybe it would have been enough... And I've  _always_  felt guilty, Madi; for the hurt I knew I would cause you, for the hurt I  _have_  caused you, and even before that, simply for not being the man you hoped me to be." John knows he's no hero, no fighter able to share her ideals. He is but a cripple with survival instincts and basic yet unattainable hopes, fool enough to have wished he might ever be enough for her, and aware enough that he will now never be. He has held his chance at a future with her in his own hands, and he has crushed it. There is no coming back from what he has done... "But I will never regret letting that chest in the ground, Madi. I still wouldn't trade for it any of the pain I am suffering since I did. To me, it is worth it." He cannot look at her anymore; he doesn't want to see the hurt burn again in her eyes.

Madi keeps silent for awhile, but he still cannot look at her.

"Then it is true you are learning."

John was prepared for anything, but surely not for that. Because it sounds hopeful, and his breath escape him in surprise, and he can't help but suddenly look at her again and - she gives him a smile, a sad one, but it  _is_  there, and he can't breathe.

"You may come back to the camp, if you wish to. The kitcheners always appreciated your help." John knows his mouth fell open, and he just still. can't. breathe. She bites her lip nervously before pursuing. "I make no promise. But I've missed you."

This admission is what finally breaks him, and he feels tears building up. "And I've missed you."

She extends her hand towards him, and he lurches forward to take it.

They are silent all the way back. But their hands stay linked.

_._

_Waiting is painful. Forgetting is painful. But not knowing which to do is the worst kind of suffering._

_— Paulo Coelho_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The worst part of John's memories I still have to write, but there is something so NECESSARY for me about stopping this here as a full chapter. You have NO IDEA how I would have loved to take it from here and have them both loving each other for eternity. They are THAT pure and beautiful and TRUE together. But no matter how much I would want to pretend it doesn't exist, the shadow of Treasure Island is just too big for me to ignore, and I can't give it sense by Madi being alive… ANYONE JUST PLEASE HUG ME ?


	5. Chapter 5

**III. (continued)**

John doesn't count the days anymore.

It should feel bittersweet, this new development - being allowed in her presence once more; yet not having her back completely. But it doesn't. It is not settling for less; it is relishing on what he has - simply because he had thought it lost;  _twice_. John knows he has always looked at her with a powerful mix of fascination and reverence - even before he had started knowing her enough to look at her with love, admiration and need - vital, essential, and never to be quenched need. But now, there's downright adoration too. Every look feels like a wonder, every smile like a miracle, and every word? - every word feels like a benediction.

He hungers for her too, of course, and he knows it shows - every time their gazes hold onto each other just that moment too long, every time they nearly touch but withdraw. They had both  _needed_  contact, as a seal of their reconciliation. But they haven't touched since. No small gesture would feel innocent now; the slightest touch would mean she is ready to take him back as hers fully. And though he has sworn to let her decide, well, they both apparently don't trust their judgements if their skins were to meet - and John wants her back for the rest of his life; not for a night she might regret in the morning. So, over day, he holds back. The memories of their nights together haunt him though, every night. It had been impossible - too painful - when he had thought her forever out of reach. But now that there is hope… he willingly burns in them.

/

Life at camp is different than how it used to be. They learned that Rackham and Max's plan actually worked out, and so at the moment there is no constant tension, no immediate fear. John still walks to the cliffs twice a day (when he gets up, and before dusk) - even though he knows there are men posted to watch, as always - but he feels less stressed. And he has a place. He helps around as he can, mostly with preparing the food, as it can be done sitting. He has helped them before, here and then, but now that there is no need for constant hours-consuming war concils, he learns something new every day. His group of avid listeners hasn't dissolved, on the contrary, and he regularly finds himself telling this or that story again for their delight.

It feels as if everyone is watching though. Watching him watching her; watching her watching him; as they dance around each other. It's unnerving. But it's the future of their island, in a way, so John understands. There are no hard gazes though, and John feels mostly accepted.

/

The kids have asked again for 'the story with the whale and the shark'. He is in the middle of it (it is their favourite, and John still find ways to add details any time he tells it) when  _Madi_  takes a seat on the ground too. He knows she has watched from afar, before. But she is now close enough to actually hear him, and it feels odd, at first, to find himself performing for her. He even stammers, once. The impish look she then gives him is going to be his end. So he stops watching her. He finds his balance again, focusing on the kids. Until he hears her laugh. It is the first time he heard her laugh since she sent him out of her hut, and the rightness of it makes him complete and whole again. He looks at her, and she is radiant, looking at him with playful, soft eyes; and now he just HAS to try his best to provoke another laugh, and another. He succeeds. And judging by their even more than usual enthusiastic applauds at the end, the kids also felt there has been something extra too today…

/

She comes to him eventually.

"John Silver."

He was about to go to bed, and his heart starts beating so hard, the moment he realises she is on his treshold, that it might break his chest. Over the last months, they have seen each others - mostly in public, but also in private. They have talked together, they have eaten together, they have walked to the cliffs together, they have even shared silence together; but those private moments? Never under the cover of night; and never at his place or her place. So John knows. Even if he can't believe it yet.

It feels as if he cannot breath - as so often in her presence - and as if time works slower than usual; but it's alright, because that way his mind has the opportunity to notice every small detail of her approach and commit it to memory. She seemed a bit unsure when she had made her presence known. But she must have found what she was looking for in his reaction, because now she is nothing but sure of herself, and walks right to him - no circling, no hesitation. He only has time to hush out her name in a mix of honest disbelief yet hopeful yearning before she puts a silencing finger to his mouth as she actually straddles him.

"I have grown tired of the fury I had come to have to force myself to remember I should feel towards you. I have grown tired of seeing you ache, knowing I was the cause of it. And I have grown tired of denying myself, too. I know you love me with everything you have, and I have decided I owe us both to find out if it can be enough; because I actually believe it might." She removes her finger from his lips. "Do you have any doubt about my sincerity?"

He is utterly under her spell, completely at her mercy, rendered speechless and limbless, and can't do more than finally answer with a breathless "No" - both with a word and a shake of his head, his eyes though never leaving hers.

"Then show me yours."

And as she tilts her head down to kiss him, John is finally free to oblige. They meet with equivalent hunger, crash together like thunder in a storm, and drown both in tempestuous waves of their own, several times; and yet none of it equals the simple, undeniable, true  _force_  of the love they share.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY, silly thing but:
> 
> 'The Whale And The Shark' is a perfect kids story.
> 
> My love for it is never ending. It's ADVENTURE. It's THRILL and SUSPENSE and THE CALL OF THE SEA. It's everything I LOVED as a kid. I want it made a book for my kids.
> 
> (Preferably I even want an audio book from Luke Arnold. And if I'm completely honest I just want an hour long DVD with Luke Arnold as Silver, ok? It's just THAT perfect. Because I just SEE Silver telling it over and again to fascinated, captivated children and my heart goes 'aaaaaaawwwwwww'. Adding details, making voices and noises (the waves, the winds, etc), performing and telling it like no else can - I SEE IT - and I WANT IT, I WANT IT so bad *grabby hands*.)
> 
> I mean. It's pirates! (do you know any child who doesn't go yeah! just at that?) Starting with the tempest (danger) -insert descriptions of it and make it long AND NO ONE DIES (Muldoon, my heart!!!!!!!!!!!) - that you survive (yeah!) then the deadcalm (even more danger) (just skip the executions bit though of course…) then the whale (hope!) then the 'no way we can eat that' (nooooooooo) - insert descriptions about the smell (like not as it should smell, of course, but as release for the tension and have the kids have some laugh) - then 'SHARKS! let's eat that' (hope! with danger!) - insert descriptions about being brave (it's inspiring) and downright lucky (it's realistic, and again, you can make the kids laugh) - insert descriptions about clumsily hawling the huge shark on your tiny tiny loop, then on the boat, decsriptions about how it tastes (like salvation - and learn the kids to RESPECT food) - and then yeahhh the world is saved and the wind is back and you can all sail away towards others adventures :)
> 
> IT'S GOLD. I swear. It's pure gold.
> 
> I LOVE 'the shark date', as an adult, for what it is (yet another meaningful turning point in Flint & Silver relation.) But as the kid I was, and try not to forget I have been, I can't help but see the beauty of a 'simpler' version, To me, it just is that PURE.
> 
> No wonder I've put it in my fic, I'm THAT OBSESSED with it.


	6. Chapter 6

_Warning about the bit you're about to read: let's be honest - it fucking HURTS._ _(Love isn't only cookies and sunshine. It is still LOVE, though...)_

**III. (continued)**

Madi tells him she's  _late_ ; and John just freezes. He LOVES right away the idea, because it's HER, and it's  _her with him_ , and it  _is_  right and beautiful. It is something he never actually thought about until then, but it feels, instinctively, truly, without a doubt, GOOD. And now that there is the possibility ... John  _wants_  it. He does. But he freezes nonetheless; because his childhood had been such a horrid mess - how would he  _ever_ be able to do it right. He has  _no clue_.

Madi understands, of course. She has never asked him anything about his past - simply because she discerns that if he is not willing to share it with her, then she won't be the one digging out what she guesses is  _pain_  - but she must have seen his face blanch, his eyes surrounded with ghosts of his own... She asks him to look at her. She is his anchor; and the ghosts go away. When she is sure that he is back with her, she reminds him that the kids on the island all love him, actually; that he's only patient and gentle with them, and that they know it's genuine; and John knows it is all true... But it is not the same. She takes his hands, and tells him that she is certain that he will be a good father. That their child will be all right, because he/she will not miss any of the necessary, and because they'll both be there to love and support him/her - and that is all a child requires.

And John then realises that she's talking about him, but also about her. Her voice is light and matter-of-factly, nothing but assured; but he  _hears_  her. He always hear her. John knows how she has missed her father, while growing up. And even if for John those concepts - 'family' 'father' 'mother' - are meaningless and hollow, John knows that the hurt,  _her hurt_ , is real, and meaningful.

He kisses her, tender but firm, on her forehead.

"I'll never leave."

Her lips tremble at the promise, because she realizes he understood what she said - even if she hadn't noticed when saying it. He takes her in his arms, and she lets him hold her. And somehow, John can't help but think that maybe, maybe, that's in fact why she has taken him back in. Because - for all his faults - Madi knows he has one quality, at least: he won't leave. And John decides that, even if that's it, it doesn't matter. As long as he's allowed to be there to take care of her. And of the little miracle growing inside her. The why's just do not matter.

"I swear, Madi, I'll never leave any of you."

/

Madi loses their child about eight weeks later. She tells him she knows it is quite common in the early weeks. She tells him she knows it is better this way, if there was something wrong. He feels though that she is sad. And that she feels guilty, both towards their never to be child and towards him.

"It is not your fault, Madi."

He just holds her tight, rocking her gently, feeling how soundless sobs rock her as her grip on him turns desperate. He's crying too, and he's mourning too, but he doesn't want her to have any lingering doubt about this.

"It is not your fault."

 


	7. Chapter 7

**IV. (Treasure Hunt)**

John knows he's been thinking about this for some time. It started small, like something in the back of his head which wasn't even a thought yet, but was just there. An omnipresent itch, which it took time to recognize and accept. And John can't help but think that  _now_  is maybe the time to finally act upon it. Honestly, he fears it; because it has the potential to return him to the state he has been in, less than two years ago - and he doesn't want to risk losing her, again. But it might reconcile Madi with her former self, gives her back some of the strength she has lost at the moment; and so, John cannot delays anymore…

"Madi." She turns to him, and John can't help but fidget somehow. "There's something I'd like to discuss with you."

She leaves the work at her desk to come to him right away, obviously puzzled but concerned: "Shall we go to the cliffs?"

And right then would be another evidence (if John ever needed one) as to why he so helplessly loves her. One look at him - and she  _always_  knows. So right now, she knows he's hesitating, she knows it's important, she knows he wants a quiet, private place to open up his soul to her - and she just gives it to him. It's breathtaking, still. It's not something he believes he will ever get used to.

All those years John had believed his only value was his looks… All those years he had kept taking care of his physique - keeping his face shaven, his hair clean, his clothes right - all those years he had kept taking care of the way he smiled, of the way he moved (or didn't move), of the way he talked (or didn't talk)… All those years, always looking at his best, and constantly  _depending_  on it - and no one had ever seen him; but only an image of what they had wanted to see. The few people he actually had sticked around long enough had often started to see beyond it; but in time.

Then, when John had met Madi? He had been a wreck. His body not only deformed and grotesque, but nowhere even near presentable - unkempt and dirty all over. She definitely didn't need him: she was destined to be a queen. And he had obviously nothing to offer her: he was but a useless one-legged creature, probably awaiting death in a cage. And yet. She had looked at him, and she had  _seen_  him. How could he have not loved her, just for this? Even before he had got to know her, and love her simply for being the closest-to-perfection person she was? Even before she had started actually valuing him too - and what a moment it had been, to discover that to her, he  _mattered_ … That had been the moment John had been able, finally, to let go of his old self. He had been forced though nearly right away to take yet another form; to become Long John Silver. But to Madi? To Madi, he was always simply HIMSELF…

He cannot speak. So he nods. She takes his hand, waits for him to set the pace, and they just go.

They walk in silence; but definitely not apart.

Their entwined fingers speaks for them, and John can't help but wonder once again if there is truth after all in that greek old myth Muldoon had told him about, what seems so long ago…

Muldoon was not only one of the  _very_  few friends John ever had, he was also the first John ever lost. And for a long time, the only thing thinking about Muldoon always did was bringing John back in the belly of that damn ship, in his panick and his devastating despair, as the sea had kept coming in, implacable, and that there had been nothing John had been able to do except holding onto Muldoon - even when there had been no Muldoon left anymore to hold onto… But lately, even if he still has nightmares about it, John has started remembering the rest too. The way Muldoon just never stopped chatting, about anything and everything. The way he cursed and complained; the way he smiled and laughed. The hundreds times he had mentioned "that rotten pig you made us hate", with a soft smile or with hard eyes - but always with a clap on his shoulder. His devotion to the job he had assigned himself to - make a true sailman out of John, even before he became quartermaster: teaching him the chanties and the jokes and the who's who, along with the name and function of each and every piece of their boat.

So right now, walking hand in hand with Madi? John doesn't doubt Muldoon would approve too John has found his true other half. 

They reach the cliffs and sit at their usual spot. John doesn't let go of her hand, but takes it in the middle of both his hands, tracing patterns on her skin. It feels right to discuss this here, where memories of James linger - because it concerns him too. John absently look at the sea, then at their joined hands, and finally find the strength to meet her eyes again. It comes out in a rush, before he might change his mind midway.

"What would you do if we were to dig out the lost cache?"

Her brows furrow. "I was told by several sources only Captain Flint knew where it was? On an uncharted island only Featherstone or Morgan could find; which was why they were constantly watched over by Jack Rackham and by the true governess of Nassau?"

It still feels eerie, to hear her call James 'Flint'. He had started calling him 'James' in his mind soon after the confession of his past - of his reason to be what he was - after they had buried the treasure for the first time. And he has definitely stopped calling him 'Flint', since he saw him shatter in Thomas's arms… But of course she had informed about the whereabouts of the chest, in case there was the slightest chance she might have get to retrieve it. Probably right the moment he had arrived back on the island, both with empty hands and without James.

"It is so. That doesn't mean we do not have an idea of where it might be, and where it most surely isn't. There wasn't enough time to venture too far… It should be a question of months, at the most… If I could persuade the others enough time has passed not to endanger their situation by digging it out; if I could persuade them they would only gain from it by now… A share for Max; a share for Rackam and Anne; a share for their crew, including Morgan and Featherstone; a share for you; a share for me - which will belong to you too, save what would be necessary to buy James and Thomas out and let them start fresh, somewhere - not that I intend to tell them that… What would you do with it, Madi?"

She sees the fear in his eyes, and in the way he's breathing though his nose. She realizes it is something he has been considering for some time, and probably fighting himself about for the same amount of time. She realizes he has weighed the pros and the cons - and that he yet still decided to tell her. To involve her. To discuss it with her. Even if it's clear he doesn't trust her completely about him not getting hurt in the process again - and that is to her the most telling of it: despite it all, maybe without even hoping they could attain some common grond - he has chosen to include her will into his decision. Flint had been right. He could learn. He did. She understands how much he is willing to risk on her behalf, again; except this time, he isn't making any decision in her place. And it's beautiful.

Her free hand curls around his neck, and she brings their foreheads together, looking long and deep into his eyes. She can't speak yet; it is too much. It calms him down a bit, though, as they start to breath in sync, while he just waits for her to answer.

"John Silver. You never cease to amaze me, and I think I have never loved you more than I love you right now. And yet, it still doesn't mean I won't love you even more come tomorrows - because you always gives me reasons to love you  _more_. You've asked me once, and I never answered. But know this: to me? you  _are_  enough. Never doubt it anymore. You are more than enough, for a lifetime."

His breath itches, and his eyes get red.

"To you."

He says it both like it is the most precious and the most devastating thing in the world; and it slices through her heart.

Because she knows he heard her, as always. Because she spoke of her, and only her - and he heard how she hasn't mention  _them_. He knows that she thinks she owes them; more than him, and more than herself. It is not a question of love; it has  _never_  been a question of love, between them. It is a question of responsability. She feels responsability for them first - because they are numerous, and he and she are one; because she was raised to fight for them more than for herself; because she is the one who tends, as opposed to the one who is tended to: the crown is always a burden - and she has accepted that fact long ago. To be honest, it is part of who she is, and of why he loves her so. But it doesn't mean he will ever stop wishing (not hoping) for it to be otherwise.

"Yes, to me." She brings her other hand up and takes his face in her two hands. "You know I cannot do  _nothing_ , not with such wealth… But I can promise you to take my own safety in consideration. I had time to think. We nearly got a child. I was blinded by my youth then - thinking simply that if something was right then it would always prevail; Flint was blinded by his rage, and so he couldn't care… Now? I'm not blinded, and I care. My duties are also to the ones on  _this_  island. I can promise you not to run into a direct conflict we can't win. I know England and Spain are far away; but they are both powerful and rich enough to sustain war for a much longer time than the cache, even whole, would ever buy us. We may have to hide. But isn't it what we've always done anyway? We may gather intelligence. We may fund and we may arm rebellions. We may help and we may protect the ones coming to us. But once more, isn't it what we've always done anyway? Together, we'll make it work. And… If Captain Flint joins us? Even if temporarily? He could teach us how to sail. We could expand. Find other secure places. Build other fortified camps, spread, grow - until we've grown too big to stay ignored. But I want you  _with_  me, and I promise I'll listen to your concerns and your advices. I will trust you; just like you trust me, right now. Could you accept this?"

"I love you. So completely. But please,  _please_  be careful."

His lips tremble, and a few tears escape his eyes. She kisses them away before finding his eyes once more.

"I will be. Because you'll tell me if I'm not."

"And if I ever ask you to run-"

"I'll run.  _I'll run_. As long as you don't ask me to quit."

"I never did."

His voice breaks then, but it's not only a truth - it's an admission; and she knows, she knows they'll go for it.

"I know. Which is why I believe we can make it work."

She engulfs him in her arms, and he lets his fears gets soothed away, his head resting against her shoulder, breathing her in, feeling her strong heart beat. And after a moment, he's ready.

He meets her eyes. His voice is still strained. But his eyes are decided.

"Let's do it then."

"Yes. But first, John Silver (she smiles at him): let's get married."

John can't help it, he smiles; and it's a smile that is reverberating in his eyes. He has always known that he couldn't  _propose_  her. But she doesn't propose either; she just sort of  _orders_  him to; and even John knows it is somehow non traditional. But it only feels right.

And he understands. John has always considered her as his wife; and since she has taken him back, he has never felt less than a husband to her. It is just that now, Madi finds him ready to be seen as her future king. He knows her people like him. He knows they judge him by his actions; and not by the colour of his skin. But  _marrying_  him, it's a signal, and not only on the island, but stretching far beyond it: 'he is more than my lover; he is my consort. He  _is_  one of us.'

He smirks, winking at her. "If it pleases you."

She playfully slaps his good thigh and lean in for a kiss.

"It does."

And, just for this moment? John actually  _does_  feel like a king.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks for the feedback, it's worth the Urca treasure :)
> 
> "According to Greek mythology, humans were originally created with four arms, four legs and a head with two faces. Fearing their power, Zeus split them into two separate parts, condemning them to spend their lives in search of their other halves."  
> ― Plato, The Symposium
> 
> "Love is composed of a single soul inhabiting two bodies."  
> ― Aristotle
> 
> "They say the worst of it don't last long. What the water does to you once it's got you. It makes you cold, makes you scared. It shows you things. Bad things. But then it warms you. And it settles you. It shows you the places you've been. The people you've loved. They're all there waitin' for you. It doesn't sound so bad."  
> ― Black Sails, Muldoon's last words. (NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO :() (aka (besides murdering me) why I believe he had like 12345678987654321 'they say' knowledge in his head, and would mention them at any occasion...).


	8. Chapter 8

_(Warning (sort of): You know the treasure is still on Skeleton Island in Treasure Island, so...)_

**IV. (continued)**

Rallying the others turned out to be easier than John had expected. About two months later, they are sailing towards Skeleton Island, with high spirits.

But when they near the landing beach, Rackham curses and hands John the longview: there's a hut by the tree line!

They approach with care, but rapidly realize that the hut hasn't been tended to for some time; it needs repairs. They search the two chests it contains. The first contains clothes (a mix of pirates and red coats) and cords. The second contains cooking ustensils, a tinderbox, ink and paper - and some of it is  _written_. There is a map - of the part of the island they are on - divided in squares: about two thirds of them are checked, starting below and moving up it seems. And when they follow the map and arrive at the last marked place, they find an open hole in the ground, and understand what they feared (nature has reclaimed most of the ground they passed by, but signs of excavations had still been visible underway) to be true.

When they left the island 2,5 years ago, someone was left behind. Probably one of Rogers's men, deciding he had about as much chance to survive if staying alone on an unknown island than surrendering to pirates - and a better chance at getting rich in the process... After having ensured his survival as best as he had been able to, the man had gone for the chest, and had found it. Judging by the state of the hut, and the absence of the treasure in its area, they surmise that the marooned man has been rescued for some time already, and that the treasure has gone who could know where along with him...

/

John has apologized to her. And then, he hasn't spoken for hours. It finally comes out in the night, in a whisper.

"Do you think he has grown to resent me by now?"

And that's when Madi decides that she  _should_  let him read the letter. But right now, the only thing she can do is hold his hand.

/

And so, when they are back at camp, when they finally have a moment for themselves, after the explanations and the disappoitments, Madi leads him to her working hut and tells him to sit down. She walks to her desk to retrieve the letter from the drawer she keeps it in, then hands it to him. John looks up at her, at first puzzled; then at the folded paper in her hand - where he can read 'Madi' in a handwriting he actually recognizes; realizes what it must be; and his breath catches.

"How?"

"Ben Gunn handed it to me, the night after you had come back."

(A few hours after he had stopped the war, then...)

And John can actually see it. His memory of that day is very clear - as his conscience so often turns towards it in guilt.

John remembers letting the others go ahead at first without him, because he had needed a moment, to prepare himself to say, definitely, goodbye. When he had finally rejoined with the others, James had already been led to a field nearby, and his chains were to be removed. John had not been prepared though for the force of it, for both the relief and the tightening in his chest as he had witnessed... what he had witnessed. It was a moment too pure and too powerful to be resumed in words. James and Thomas (and it had been strange to finally put an image on someone he didn't know but who had become so meaningful to him) had held to each other for some time; until a guard had come close and informed James that he was supposed to get back to the house for a brief moment. It had been planned - as the moment James would tell him where the cache was, after having proof that Thomas was actually here. So James had come, mostly turning back to look backwards as if his eyes just couldn't look at anything else than Thomas; and John had walked past the others and taken extra steps, until they could meet at the steps. James had played along, putting one hand on John's good shoulder, leaning forward and whispering in his ear, tears somehow still audible in his shaken voice: "I believe you. Thank you." Simply.

John had only been able to nod and mutter a quick heartfelt "Be well" before storming out as fast as he had been able to, before he might turn into a mess. He still had to explain to his men that he had no intent to go for the chest, he still had to persuade them and the free slaves that the war was not a viable option; he still had SO MUCH to do - to ACT; he shouldn't and wouldn't fall apart just now. The others had followed, and John remembers Ben Gunn had been the last to get in the cart.

It wasn't so hard then to imagine James hinting at Gunn to wait a second, to give him (one of?) the letter(s) he had written at some point during the boat journey (he had been in the cabin, ink and paper would have been easy to find), holding his gaze - Ben Gunn owed them both his life, somehow - even amongst pirates, it tend to mean something. John knows Gunn must have read the letter at the first occasion, found no clue in it, and decided giving it to Madi was repaying his debt towards the both of them. James hadn't given the letter to John because Madi would have had doubts if he had been the one handing it to her, of course. It wouldn't have been the proof it was, if she had got it from his hands... John realizes that's why Madi had never asked him again about James's fate. Because she had proof for his words to be the truth.

John's hand is somehow trembling as it finally slowly reaches out to take the letter.

"I nearly threw it in the fire after the first paragraph. My mother stopped me though, taking it from my hands and keeping it safe 'until I would be ready to read it' (Madi notices John's sort of surprise at her mother somehow helping him): she knew it was important to me, if it angered me that much..."

Then John holds it in his fingers. He looks at Madi once more for confirmation. She nods, sitting down next to him, laying a hand on his thigh but her eyes turned down, offering both support and privacy. And John unfolds the paper and start to read.

John knows James cherished Madi. And he knows James had come to  _love_  him, actually. He knows that, in time, they grew truly close; that he was trusted - since James had revealed his past to him; that he mattered - since James had wanted to teach him how to fight  _and not die_ , even at the possible cost of teaching him how to kill him; and yes, that he was loved, since the moment James had shot Dooley, his ally (and only ally - John hadn't thought it through while sending the voluntaries after James; but his honest surprise when he had understood that Joji was dead - that Joji had chosen him above James? - had been quite revealing...) - instinctively, with no time for thought-process (proving also that he  _could_  have killed John just as easily; if he had wanted to...).

But, even knowing this all before hand, John isn't prepared, as he starts reading, for the onslaught of...  _everything_. He even has to re-read any sentence he just read, because he can't believe the enormity of it all...

John wasn't prepared to actually HEAR James's voice, right from the first word. He wasn't prepared to realize that James had infiltrated his mind and soul exactly as much as he had infiltrated James's - no matter how John had thought he had revealed near to nothing. He wasn't prepared for James playing his advocate - not only about his love for Madi, but also about his ending of their war. And he definitely wasn't prepared for James's final acceptance and good wishes.

And John understands how much he  _owes_  James. Of course, the decisions had been Madi's, entirely. But James had opened the doors that had brought her to judge John not only by her standards, but also by John's -  _it is true you are learning_ , she had told him that day at the cliffs; and to admit an open war was actually too risky to ever be successful. John owes James  _everything_. And he cannot repay. He leans down against Madi, and she turns to hold him fully against her as he shamelessly begin to cry.

"We'll find a way, John Silver. We'll find a way to get them out."

.

_AN: And feel free now to start an AU where Madi and Silver succeed in breaking them out. I know I do. *Whyyyyyyyyy Treasure Island? Whyyyyyyyyy do you have to EXIST?* (ok, I realise that without TI Black Sails just wouldn't have been (and seriously, it's just too horrific to contemplate) so it's a moot point. Still, my feels say my shouting about is valid.)_

_._

_**THE LETTER**  is in chapter 3, if someone needs to read it again..._

_._

**_(BACKSTORY)_ **

**_Here is my take on Billy's time on Skeleton Island - and how it explains what we know from Treasure Island (because it is quite different than what we see happening in Black sails):_ **

**Billy, marooned - a BS sequel (and a TI prequel)**

On the practical side to start with, can you imagine Billy :

\- taking the clothes from the corpses, because useful!

\- burning the corpses, because unhealthy!

\- arms and tools, paper and ink, wood, food, rum, water etc saved from the boat(s)

\- making a shelter, finding a way to collect and/or make fresh water, finding out how to hunt/fish etc etc

When he's 'done' with the survival, of course, he goes for the treasure.

At some point, he finds the treasure, but being  **THE STORY MAKER**  he is (Silver is a story teller, but Billy is good at crafting) he creates the story that Flint told him everything (because if Billy is ever going to be able to come back for the treasure, he'll need to convince people he trusts about knowing the treasure's location, so 'Flint told me, look, see he noted indications on this map (that's not my writing, see)' would surely work best; he then also makes the skeleton 'clues' pointing at the treasure (he is Billy Bones, so he uses BONES, literally, he sees it as a way to say it's his without saying it, or as an inside joke, whatever … there are enough bones at his disposal after all (even if he succeeded in burning everything from the 'fresh' corpses (which i doubt) there are plenty of time-cleaned spanish skeletons from the first marooned boat, right…) when he 're-hides' the treasure chest (because he knows there is no way he's going to be able to leave the island with it all on his own anyway - the poor man has trust issues, you can't really hold it against him after all he's been through (and even if HE himself made terrible choices along the way)), along as the arms and some silver he found on the boats on 2 other places on the island. (He has taken gems out of the chest, of course, but not more than what he ever could hide on himself.)

Then, he is just plain lucky, and an English merchants boat who has lost his course in a storm gets on the island (they have no clue about Flint's treasure, which makes it all easier than if it would have been pirates coming around)

He says he's the last survivor of a boat who crashed, and is allowed to get back to the (civilized) word with them.

And that's how Billy Bones gets in England with money enough to survive while planning to return to dig the rest of the treasure thanks to his map (with 2 different writings on it) (and never doing it except in drunken reveries, because TRUST ISSUES, indeed)

_Anyone's with me ?_

SOURCE:

* TI TEXT:The paper had been sealed in several places with a thimble by way of seal; the very thimble, perhaps, that I had found in the captain's pocket. The doctor opened the seals with great care, and there fell out the map of an island, with latitude and longitude, soundings, names of hills and bays and inlets, and every particular that would be needed to bring a ship to a safe anchorage upon its shores. It was about nine miles long and five across, shaped, you might say, like a fat dragon standing up, and had two fine land-locked harbours, and a hill in the centre part marked 'The Spy-glass.' There were several additions of a later date, but above all, three crosses of red ink—two on the north part of the island, one in the southwest—and beside this last, in the same red ink, and in a small, neat hand, very different from the captain's tottery characters, these words: 'Bulk of treasure here.' Over on the back the same hand had written this further information: Tall tree, Spy-glass shoulder, bearing a point to the N. of N.N.E. Skeleton Island E.S.E. and by E. Ten feet. The bar silver is in the north cache; you can find it by the trend of the east hummock, ten fathoms south of the black crag with the face on it. The arms are easy found, in the sand-hill, N. point of north inlet cape, bearing E. and a quarter N. J.F. That was all; but brief as it was, and to me incomprehensible, it filled the squire and Dr. Livesey with delight."

* (I know there is an 'official' map … (which has been created long after the book, but even if you want to take it as 'canon' (even though it's then 40years after BS and not 20...), well, the 'additional dates lines' can have easily added by Billy later on after having heard Flint has died and when...)


	9. Chapter 9

**V.**

It was the last Friday of the month, in the middle of the afternoon, which meant that Thomas would be home by now, after having worked at/for Oglethorpe's library, while James would still be at the fields.

/

On his arrival, John had been given the opportunity to be brought to James right away; but he had declined - he hadn't been sure of the welcome; at all... So he had been brought to his 'place', and had waited. He had recognized Thomas as he had been approaching, and Thomas had obviously recognized him too: "Mr Silver, I presume?" John had had to bite his tongue about how the crutch and missing leg simply gave it away, and had only answered with a curt nod. Thomas had let him in, informing him that James would come in in about two hours, but had logically left him in his silence with his bad mood, despair and stress…

/

But John thinks *now* is maybe his chance to have some time alone with Thomas. The man is still a mystery, for the most, and John is  _curious_  - because the man means so much to James, indeed. Besides, John has to know, somehow, what Thomas actually thinks of him.

So John knocks at the door, and Thomas let him in - apparently surprised that John came 'to visit' that soon.

John takes the offered seat by the table and break the ice the only way he can think of - telling Thomas about his day with the kitcheners, and how it feels to be busy growing potatoes too - instead of only peeling them, which he has a long history of.

Thomas eyes him, and John feels scrutinised and dissected. But when Thomas finally talks, his words are as soft and gently-spoken as John has ever heard them - but with an added layer of wonder:

"You are quite like James. You adjust here so easily…"

John hears the opportunity; and of course, he takes it: "I take it you didn't, then?"

The interest is genuine, and Thomas understands that John is still not willing yet to talk to him about himself; but that he is truly willing to get to know him. It seems John cares about him in the way Thomas knows he cares about John - simply because they both love James; and James loves them both.

/

When Thomas had recognized that it was indeed James in front of his eyes, the whole world had started to spin, in an exhilarating way; and had stopped turning only once he had felt James in his arms, again, after so long; anchoring him...

But then, when he had realized that James wasn't here to take him out but to stay in himself, he had asked James as he had returned to him, with bile in his voice (not because  _he_  wasn't going out, but because  _James_  was incarcerated - and that felt worse yet than his own captivity) who had turned him in; willing to commit to memory the vague image of the already gone man he had seen James talking to from afar. The clear absence of poison though in James's voice as he had simply ushed out "John" - as if it was self explanatory - hadn't been something Thomas had expected; and the words that had followed even less: "He believes he's saving my life and giving me what I want. And you're here."

And James had been looking at him with such  _wonder_ , and Thomas  _did_  share that feeling; so he had decided it wasn't worth spoiling any of it with questions right then.

James had started sobbing again though: "Miranda would have been so happy."

The words had cut through Thomas like a blade, and he had only helplessly repeated the words; wanting - needing - to deny what they meant. "Would have been?"

"I'm so sorry, Thomas. I'm so sorry."

 _Miranda._  Thomas had felt like an avalanche was washing over him; everything spinning, but this time downwards.  _Miranda._  How? When? All those questions he needed an answer to... But not right now. Because Miranda was evidently now out of his reach; but James  _was_  here - and obviously not only needed him, but seemed to dread his reaction to that news. And so Thomas had only been able to take James back in his arms, and held them together while they both had cried...

The gossips at the mainhouse though had been inevitable ("Long John Silver? Turning his own Captain in? Does it means he's better or worse than Flint?" - "Well, with Teach, Vane and now Flint out of the picture, we'll find out sooner or later I guess..." - "I've heard he's in good terms with Calico Jack" - "Oh, that means Anne Bonny... Let's pray it will be later then!" / "Hard to believe Captain Flint was the scourge of the seven seas - they say he could command winds and waves; but his own quartermaster could overthrow him so easily; while missing a leg? - Well, obviously, he knew a secret..."). Thomas hadn't been able to decide if he should wish to hear more, or nothing at all. He hadn't mentioned any of it to James. He had passed on to him though any major piece of 'news' he fell upon concerning Nassau - new governor, for instance, and James had asked him, then:

"You would tell me, right, if you heard anything about..."

Thomas couldn't tell what felt worst: the fact that James seemed unable to finish that sentence; the stop yet plea in his voice; the obvious  _fragility_  in James the mysterious man seemed to provoke, while being evidently so undeserving of it; or the fierce flash of anger at that damn man that seeing James in such a state ignited in himself... But Thomas would never refuse James anything.

"I do not have *news* about him, I'm sorry."

But James had surprised him then - he had smiled: "No news is good news. He's with Madi then."

Another name he didn't know, and Thomas hadn't been able not to end with a sigh:

"I hear gossips though... and I can't help but wonder about who is, in truth, Long John Silver."

It wasn't exactly a question; Thomas would never  _ask_  for something he felt James might not be willing to tell.

But the way James tilted his head that had followed the simple unrequest had made very clear that James  _did_  want to share - but that the answer was nothing but simple. James had seemed to need to  _evaluate;_  as if he himself didn't know how to define the man. And when he had finally settled on a description? "Not the monster you think him to be."

So that had been when Thomas had understood not only that James loved John, but that he loved him profoundly.

And so Thomas hadn't pushed for more, not wanting to force James to live through what he believed to be painful memories once more. But the whole story had come out right then out of James's soul. John Silver - not Long. The cunning thief; the unexpected ally; the devoted quartermaster - to the crew  _and_  to him; the unanticipated friend - and his reprehensible, yet somehow comprehensible, choice in the end. How a bond, born from a common goal (suspicion and distrust aside), heightened by circumstances, got finally severed when they couldn't agree on what their common goal should be anymore. The chest. The war. Madi. Him. Danger or safe-keeping. The right fight or the nightmare...

And Thomas had doubted, though privately, about John's actual friendship: James loved the man, maybe he wasn't seeing things clearly - it wouldn't have been the first time that 'a friend' betrayed them, right: Peter had turned on them, in fact, at each and every occasion he had been given... And to think that Thomas would have never believed any of it; if it hadn't been James revealing all of it to him...

Those doubts though had been vanquished, right the moment Thomas had seen John actually interacting with James, only through silence. John's  _sincerity_  had been obvious, and profound too. That's when Thomas had started to believe that John  _did_  indeed love James too.

/

So Thomas decides that - from what he has always heard from James, and from what he has self witnessed over the last month - he can take that dive with honesty.

"Do you know La Fontaine's Fable about the dog and the wolf? (John nods _*AN*_ ) Well, I was born as a dog, and as such always aspired to be a wolf. But the both of you? You've been wolves, and yet - maybe that's some truth to dwell upon… But no, indeed. I  _had_  known worse, as I think you know. (John nods again) Definitely worse. But when I arrived here? It infuriated me nonetheless. I should have felt relieved - because I was out of Hell. But even though the general cleanliness made it easier to suffer… And even though after a while it felt like I was useful, again… It didn't make its concept less ugly and wrong, in my eyes…"

John can't help but lower his head, and Thomas needs to make clear that he isn't brandishing the hatchet: "You weren't the one who sold me in."

John feels guilty nonetheless, and cannot be a coward about it. This needs to be discussed. "But I was the one who could buy you out and left you in. I was scared, of so many things, and I only saw how it would keep  _him_  alive, at least. I never considered  _you_ , at the time. And I know it's too late and it rings hollow and pointless, but I am sorry."

Thomas sighed. "You were also the one who sought me out to start with. You were the one who planned to get me out. I know it got… complicated. But I know your intentions, at least, were right - and that is more than I can say about my own family and the people I used to call friends."

The implications down on John, as echoes from the past once more come to his mind - ' _This is not what I wanted. It was a gift.'_  John exhales, relieved, but still somehow uncertain: "He believed me."

And Thomas is nothing but certainty, and proof: "He did."

Thomas lets the moment pass before continuing.

"Anyway. To come back to your original question? Now, I am grateful I was sent here, no matter how wrong - I would most probably  _never_ have been reunited with James otherwise. And of course, even if I had started to realize the *possibility* being here still gave me, my vision of this place shifted even more when he arrived."

Thomas nervously taps his fingers a few times on the table, looking at them as though they hold the answer to how much he should reveal, then finds John's eyes again.

"You know he's kept count of the people he's killed; of those who died either at his hands, or because of his actions."

John stiffens but silently agrees once more - that knowledge still feels as raw as the first time he had been confronted with it. Because John had never given a thought to this aspect of the deal, beforehand; but it had turned cristal clear that it had been part of James's acceptance too - right the moment James had walked into the room on John's first day here, and John had realized  _that he had still kept shaving his hair…_

Thomas's voice brings John back to the present:

"Most, I believe he can live with - so many have turned on him in time, it's a miracle he actually stayed alive…" (Thomas's voice falters some, from having conjured in his mind all the scars, both from bullets and swords, on a body he had used to know pristine. Thomas has scars of his own too, of whip and abuse. But James's scars, bullets and blades, tell a story of battle after battle after battle - and that's only the ones that marked him - and Thomas always needs a moment when he sees them, both from heartbreak and wonder. Because he knows that the worst yet are not the ones you see. Thomas has marks etched on his soul more permanently than the ones on his back and on his writs. The crimping in the dark, and the sudden pain in his limbs and eyes when he was abruptly brought ouside and see light again after having been deprived of it for so long. The isolation, and how not to turn mad. The cold and no-food punishments. All that had been done to him 'in order to cure him'... So Thomas knows James have yet worse scars too on the inside...) "But a few weigh far more, and I guess he thinks it fair to be punished for those, somehow… Especially as he got me back; he feels there should be counterweight in the balance."

/

Thomas will  _never_  forget that first evening. They had been  _clinging_  to each other, for who could know how long after being reconciled, between cries and shy smiles and soft kisses and cries, still half unbelieving they had been given the other back, and still mourning over Miranda's absence. But James had started talking first. A neverending flow of his wrongs, a litany of names Thomas had for the most never even known, a complete confession of his burden of old and newer guilts - heavy, never to be washed away, deeply and permanently tortuously tangled and twisted in James's soul GUILTS - from the moment they had been separated to the moment they had been brought back together, telling him everything that had happened during those long years, but most particularly, telling him about  _how he should have come after him in London;_  telling him about his mother and his father,  _and how he might have learned right then where Thomas was if he hadn't been that expeditive_ ; telling him about Peter Ashe's lies and deceit, and telling him about  _Miranda_  - about how much and how often he had wronged her and let her down, even before her end; telling him about one years-old friend he had ended killing with his own bare hands, and about one nothing but loyal man he had killed solely for one instinctive and selfish reason - how he had become  _the one who betrayed_ ; and Thomas had listened and listened and listened, and cried and cried and cried; but the only thing Thomas had truly heard had been James listing all the reasons why Thomas shouldn't love him anymore; how MONSTROUS and unworthy of even being loved at all James believed he had become. And when there had been silence, finally - when the list had ended: James had been looking at Thomas with nothing but expectation - waiting for the judgement, for the condemnation, for the killing blow.

But the only thing Thomas had been able to do had been to kiss him, reverently, all over his face, his hands, and hold him tight as James had once more started crying… Because, no matter how James believed himself not to be anymore the man he had once been, Thomas had always known James would be violent if tested - and had accepted it long ago; simply because it gave James a better chance at surviving anything that would come for him, and so Thomas couldn't not be glad for it - James was military after all, so things were bound to come. And because Miranda might have never have to die as she did, and James might have never have had to be reduced to this endless ocean of remorse to start with…

/

"But the thing is - and this, John - may i call you John? (John is surprised at the desperate tone Thomas's voice is taking, but wordlessly consents) - I insist he must  _never_  know - he would only feel guilty for this too (John is stunned at the indisputable  _trust_ , but quickly nods again in agreement): I share his responsability. The majority of his deeds have been in my name. And no matter how wrong it is, at the origin, that we were so unjustly and so profoundly punished simply for loving each other…  _I_  knew the rules, and  _I_  knew the risks. I grew up with them. I lived for years with them. He was discovering, and enthralled, and he couldn't see clearly; but I should have known better. And I'd been warned. Several times. I didn't listen - because I had a name I fancied powerful enough to protect us all, because I was both drunk on his admiration and blinded by his trust, and because ... I had never been in love so helplessly, and simply loved him too much to see clearly too. But I  _should_  have been more careful…"

Thomas's voice drops even more. "And so, now, to be honest: I don't think I could go back, to the world outside. I gave it a thought, in the beginning. Add his notorious anger to mine - who knew where it might bring us… But well, you know about the pamphlets... And as long as he is at peace too… We walk hand in hand in here; and no one cares. It is such a simple thing, but it is actually worth the world… Outside? Pretending? Being careful? I couldn't then; how would I fare better now? And what if I got him killed, this time? In the end, maybe I'm just selfish too…"

Thomas turns his eyes away briefly. Then he takes a deep breath, and meets John's eyes again.

"He misses the sea though. God knows it tears at my heart, how much he misses it."

John has to close his eyes. It feels like a knife twisting in his guts; like he's going to throw up blood. John had never given this a thought before either. He has always seen the sea as a way to be safe, to put barrier and distance between him and the horrors of his past. But he knows what the sea means to James, indeed. He knows James has  _chosen_  the sea, and has never turned his back on it: Navy, Piracy - a boat is a boat. He suddenly realizes how James must feel: amputated - and John knows how a missing limb feels.

Thomas waits, and only goes on when John's eyes open again: "I'm thankful there's a spot here where it can be seen, at least. He mostly goes alone - it's his place. But maybe we should go with him, next time."

Thomas hesitates, only an instant, before pushing through: "Last year, there was a funeral. And as the cart went out to the cemetary, I heard him sigh: 'I never thought I would be put under the ground.' And I promised him. I promised him if he went first I would find a way to get him where he belongs."

Thomas meets John's eyes dead-on then: "I thought you should know."

John is speechless. He knows he is probably just over a decade younger than them: he understands the logical demand. So John nods, yet again.

But, most of all, John hears what Thomas is actually saying:  _I trust you with this, because I know you love him too._

So John has to ask, finally, what he truly wants to know: "It doesn't bother you, my being here?"

Thomas takes some time to answer, and John knows that the answer will be honest.

"I am  _sorry_  for you; that you felt that you needed to come here, of all places. But honestly? You are the one who brought me back with James. If anything, I am in your debt. (pause) And you've come to the right place. He loves you, very much, too."

John is surprised - not actually about what Thomas said;  _but that he said it at all_. The open admission feels like a gift: acceptance, entrance to an alliance - in order to take care of James, together.

And John feels like repaying it in some way.

"He never had another man." He echoes: "I thought you should know."

Thomas looks surprised at the turn the conversation took. And he sort of blushes. But John presses on - this is his gift. It's proof (even if Thomas doesn't need one to start with) that he's no danger; that he knows his place. And it's proof that he agrees to Thomas's opening.

"I know I wasn't there all those years. But I know what I saw. And what I didn't see. And what I didn't hear. I know he never looked at anyone in that way."

And John  _should_  know. He knows  _he_  has tried, to be looked at  _in that way_. Striking pauses. Flashing smiles. The whole book he had been taught, he had used on James, at the beginning. Not exactly consciously, but he had found himself doing it, on purpose or not, time and time again. Old habits died hard. Especially when they had saved your skin, several times. It was the only power he had (even without actually playing things through of course, because the idea, the unease, worked sometimes even better); so yes, he had tried to use it. And had most definitely failed. But it was not only him. It was simply  _no one_ , it had seemed, who could get this type of reaction from James. He had believed James truly loved 'his Barlow woman' - which had felt strange, because love? John had no notion of the concept, at the time. But after having actually seen him with  _Miranda_ , well, it hadn't been a belief, but an indeniable knowledge. So John had been actually stunned, when James had confessed  _Thomas_...

"He could have, you know. Everyone feared him. And the ones who didn't want him dead? They simply revered him. Apologies for being blunt, but no one in Nassau cared about who you fucked, literally - as long as you weren't fucking them, figuratively. He could have, so easily."

Thomas tries to counter, even if it sounds weak: "He had Miranda."

"True. But I don't believe she was the only reason."

There's silence, for a while, but they let their eyes sign the deal.

/

And then James comes in…

.

_*AN* : John heard of it from Muldoon, in case you wonder :(_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to the ones who left kudos or any kind of support, it always means the world :)  
> .
> 
> JEAN DE LA FONTAINE (1621 – 1695)
> 
> THE WOLF AND THE DOG (I,5 - 1668)
> 
> A wolf reduced to skin and bone,  
> So well the dogs had watched their care,  
> Met with a wildered mastiff stout as fair,  
> Fat, in good case, and straying all alone ;  
> Gladly Sir Wolf had made the attack,  
> And tore his belly from his back.  
> He fain would have his dinner ;  
> But he must to battle fall,  
> With a mastiff strong and tall,  
> Which kept in awe the sinner.  
> Most humbly therefore he the silence broke,  
> And pretty compliments admiring spoke,  
> About his goodly size and fat. "  
> " Why, " said the Dog, " you soon may equal that ;  
> Leave but your woods and come along with me,  
> And from your wretched, starving neighbours flee ;  
> For here you live by fighting or by fetches ;  
> No easy cheer, no certain state,  
> Poor, despicable, hungry, shabby wretches :  
> Corne follow me and share a better fate. "  
> " And what's the work, " said Wolf, " required in place ? "  
> " A trifie, "—answered Mastiff, " just to chase  
> Beggars and men with sticks away ;  
> Fawn on the family, and please the master,  
> Which mounts our wages up the faster ;  
> Platesful of broken victuals every day,  
> Pullets' and pigeons' bones are on us pressed ;  
> You've no idea how we're caressed. "  
> The Wolf o'ercome assented weeping,  
> He formed great popes of such high keeping.  
> As they advanced he saw the Dog's neck bare.  
> What's that ?" he cried.— " Nothing. " — " Nothing ? why pause ? "  
> " Pshaw ! what ye see, perhaps is worn-off hair ;  
> The collar I'm tied up in is the cause. "  
> " Tied ! " cried the Wolf, "" ye don't run where ye will ? "  
> " Not always.— But no matter ; we've our fill."  
> " Have you indeed ? I really do not care  
> Now, for your sumptuous fare ;  
> For liberty I count all treasures light. "—  
> He said, and fled, and still holds on his flight.
> 
> LE LOUP ET LE CHIEN (I,5 - 1668)
> 
> Un Loup n'avait que les os et la peau ;  
> Tant les Chiens faisaient bonne garde.  
> Ce Loup rencontre un Dogue aussi puissant que beau,  
> Gras, poli, qui s'était fourvoyé par mégarde.  
> L'attaquer, le mettre en quartiers,  
> Sire Loup l'eût fait volontiers.  
> Mais il fallait livrer bataille  
> Et le Mâtin était de taille  
> A se défendre hardiment.  
> Le Loup donc l'aborde humblement,  
> Entre en propos, et lui fait compliment  
> Sur son embonpoint, qu'il admire.  
> Il ne tiendra qu'à vous, beau sire,  
> D'être aussi gras que moi, lui repartit le Chien.  
> Quittez les bois, vous ferez bien :  
> Vos pareils y sont misérables,  
> Cancres, haires, et pauvres diables,  
> Dont la condition est de mourir de faim.  
> Car quoi ? Rien d'assuré, point de franche lippée.  
> Tout à la pointe de l'épée.  
> Suivez-moi ; vous aurez un bien meilleur destin.  
> Le Loup reprit : Que me faudra-t-il faire ?  
> Presque rien, dit le Chien : donner la chasse aux gens  
> Portants bâtons, et mendiants ;  
> Flatter ceux du logis, à son maître complaire ;  
> Moyennant quoi votre salaire  
> Sera force reliefs de toutes les façons :  
> Os de poulets, os de pigeons,  
> ...Sans parler de mainte caresse.  
> Le loup déjà se forge une félicité  
> Qui le fait pleurer de tendresse.  
> Chemin faisant il vit le col du Chien, pelé :  
> Qu'est-ce là ? lui dit-il. Rien. Quoi ? rien ? Peu de chose.  
> Mais encor ? Le collier dont je suis attaché  
> De ce que vous voyez est peut-être la cause.  
> Attaché ? dit le Loup : vous ne courez donc pas  
> Où vous voulez ? Pas toujours, mais qu'importe ?  
> Il importe si bien, que de tous vos repas  
> Je ne veux en aucune sorte,  
> Et ne voudrais pas même à ce prix un trésor.  
> Cela dit, maître Loup s'enfuit, et court encor.


	10. Chapter 10

**V. (continued)**

 

And then James comes in.

He seems somehow surprised to see them apparently discussing; but then, as it sinks in, he just smiles at them both.

Thomas and John both get up to let him a chair, because they know he must be tired to his bones - but of course Thomas beats John to it. Thomas signs to John that he doesn't mind, and John sits back as James sit down - one hand softly sliding along Thomas's arm as they exchange positions - and witnessing the simple look they share then feels like intruding. They so evidently love each other; it shows in the most simple things. John feels a longing - he wishes he could touch Madi again, too; but he is happy for them nonetheless.

It's out before John can even think about what he's saying. Maybe because he just thought about Madi, maybe because he just talked with Thomas about guilts, maybe because it is just important and needs to be said…

"We went for the cache, Madi and I."

James doesn't seem surprised.

"Well, that's why I'd left it in the ground to start with. I hoped she would make you see reason, in time. I couldn't let you throw it out into the sea or something..."

There's a pause, before John can pursue. The weight of having been too late stays a hard fact to confess.

"We intended to use it for the cause and to get you both out of here. But it was gone."

James blanches: "How?" as Thomas leans forward: "What?"

John holds James's gaze: "It was in a shallow cave, sort of, right? At your left hand, before the 'trail' turned right?"

"Yes."

"Well, the only thing left was a hole in the ground."

And John explains to the both of them what they found then, in details, and what they believed had happened.

There's silence when John's tale is over, until Thomas disrupts it, somehow puzzled: "How did you get in here, then?"

John is honestly surprised: "You thought I had payed the fee?"

If he had that much money, he would have bought them out... How could they have welcomed him, if they thought...

But that's when James lets out: "You shit."

And John can't help but let his eyes fall down an instant; but Thomas sees it - the hint of colour rising up his cheeks at what indeed, even though surprisingly, sounds like a praise.

James sees it too, and reads validation, and so can't refrain from repeating, shaking his head, exhaling more softly this time: "You absolute, complete shit."

And Thomas understands. James has never served that particular line to him or Miranda - or anyone that he knows of. But apparently, this is James's adress for John.

Thomas knows James is prone to use those - he knows Miranda was 'My Sweet', he knows he used to be 'My Lord' (Thomas will never forget how puzzled and sort of worried he had been, the first time James had called him that in bed; but James had explained - "You rule over my heart". It had been the first time James had told him, in his way, 'I love you', and Thomas sure had had no problem with the entitlement afterwards. Since they got back together though, he is simply 'My Thomas'. Lord is also too tied to England and its rules, so James can't name Thomas like that anymore. Thomas loves 'My Thomas' even better anyway...)

Nevertheless, 'you shit'? Thomas can't help but wonder how it had sounded when it had first been uttered; but in time, it has clearly become an endearment - and one they both acknowledge to be one.

James then turns to Thomas, explaining: "He fed Oglethorpe a story." Then to John: "Right?"

John find their eyes again, and spill it out - encouraged, even spurred-on, by James's expectation.

"Well, it wasn't difficult, you know. I flattered his ego, pointing at what a nice addition I'd be to his little collection - I am twice King, sort of."

James's face both break yet radiates: "She married you."

And John obviously still feels being married to her to be the most precious title he ever owned, as he simply answers, eyes shining but also from wonder and pride: "Yes."

The moment passes, and John goes on: "I told him I could be useful, even without a leg. I told him I could cook." James can't help but half snort - but again, it doesn't sound diminishing; but more like an old joke the two of them only can understand - and John counters with a smile of his own: "I have learned, since that one pig, mind you."

Again, the moment passes, and John finishes, on a shrug: "And yes, I fed him a story. I offered him gems and pearls. He was interested."

James clarifies: "You mean you told him you could get the unknown whereabouts of the cache out of me, go find it, and come back to pay him for his helping about it."

Again, John shrugs: "Yes."

And Thomas needs a minute - because Oghlethorpe? He is no fool. Yet John succeeded in getting both a way in and a way out, with nothing more than the air he breathed?

"Hold on. You sold Oglethorpe a cache you know lost; you sold him you would come back to pay him if you were to find it, and he bought it all?"

John plays it down: "Well, honestly, I'm not sure he actually believed the second part; but he probably found he only had to gain from trying anyway. And bonus - feel even more self-important along the way…"

Still, it is a feat. Thomas seems unbelieving, and James explains: "I swear Thomas. He could tell you his eyes were brown, and butterflies came out of his ass, and you would buy it."

John answers right away: "I beg to differ; my eyes ARE blue. (the slightest (played) hint of hesitation) But I don't understand the second part of your assertion: what comes out of your asses, if not butterflies?"

James starts to laugh, actually; a chuckle that grows louder, that doesn't stop - and Thomas can't help but notice that it's the first time in more than a decade that he gets to hear that sound for such an extended time. And God, how he has missed it.

Thomas is baffled, if only for an instant. There is indeed something, there. It's not only the aplomb with which it is delivered, nor the way it refutes a part to make the other truer, nor the way his voice is moduled, nor the look in his eyes - it's just everything put together which makes it, indeed, a whole.

But two can play that game.

Thomas cocks an eyebrow at John, and flatly answers: "Ladybugs?"

John's face doesn't really show anything. But his mouth curls just that little bit up, and his eyes twinkle just that little bit more; and Thomas knows John is laughing with him at his retort.

And James? Well, James actually chokes on his laughter, clapping his own thigh and then extending a hand to grab Thomas by the arm and helplessly pull, holding his gaze when Thomas finally turns to meet his eyes, shaking his head in disbelief, and accusing, as he has to take a breath between his continuous laughing "Not you too".

And in that moment? James laughing? Thomas and John exchanging understanding glances? In that moment, everything is just right. Thomas realizes the puzzle is complete - including a missing piece no one had known was missing before.

/

Later that night, John is gone, and James is pensive. And Thomas knows he's playing what happened on that island back in his head, trying to understand who might have taken the chest.

Thomas lays his hands on James's shoulders on his way to bed, giving a reassuring squeeze as he kisses the top of his head: "You'll find it. You'll find for him a way out of here."

James sighs, leaning against Thomas, head tilting up to meet his eyes: "I have to."

Thomas gives his shoulders another squeeze - a last sign before retreating; but James takes one of his hands, stands and turn to kiss him, then, with intent. "But not right now, my Thomas..."

And Thomas melts in his arms.

/

"You shit" stays the most common endearment. But sometimes, when John does something justifying just that extra layer to it? It's "You (eventual: absolute, complete) Butterfly". John always blushes a fierce red, and Thomas always has to smile.

/

Thomas does not swear. He just doesn't. In a way, there are so many words he can use to swear without swearing; it's a game he has actually always enjoyed. But sometimes, now, he ushes out "Oh Ladybugs". It always makes James laugh out loud, and John wink at him. It's definitely worth breaking his own rule.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> James hadn't realized Madi & John were actually 'married' because John doesn't wear his ring (which is one of his old ones anyway) left because it's not handy with the crutch...
> 
> (Also, foreshadowing: I'm still crying over why John would never try to sell his eyes not being blue… :( Hold me?)


	11. Chapter 11

**V. (continued)**   

About a week later, James knocks on John's door. John calls out "A minute", and when he opens the door James realizes he was busy attending his leg (his trousers obviously just put on hastily; a towel, a mirror and a bucket by the bed).

"I'll come back later."

"No need; I was done anyway."

John turns and walks back towards the bed, clearly expecting James to follow in.

So James enters; and sits on the floor against the wall, facing John's bed. (The bucket is on the chair, close to the bed, and James doesn't mind.)

"Everything all right?"

John was about to put the bucket on the ground, realises it's not necessary anymore and sits back on his bed, his eyes back on James.

"I've had worse - it's nothing. What brings you here?"

James seems to hesitate.

"There's something I'd like to discuss."

John nods.

"Sure."

Again, there's a pause, and John waits.

"I thought about the cache."

John nods again.

Another pause, and James finally lets it out.

"That hut you found... Would it have been high enough for Billy?"

John is confused.

"Billy? I thought he was dead? You told-"

James sighs.

"Well, technically, he fell from the top of the mast. It's a hell of a fall. I presumed. But you know the sea didn't take him once before. He might have survived yet again."

John searches through his memories.

"Well, Rackham could easily stand. So yeah, maybe. I guess indeed it wouldn't have been necessary for a shorter man to build that high. A tall man. Probable. English soldier or Billy. Who knows?"

"Most chances either way are the cache is in England then. Billy wouldn't have stayed close to Nassau, in case he'd run into someone. And an English soldier would have probably wanted to go home."

John is now looking at him with intent: "Are you hinting at what I think you're hinting at?"

James's voice turns somewhat desperate.

"I realize it's not much. But it's  _something_. I'm sure you could make it enough to Oglethorpe."

John needs a moment. He actually closes his eyes and takes a breath. When he opens them back, James somehow wishes he hadn't: John looks locked-down, sealed shut; his face a hardened mask James recognizes all too well.

"You want me to go chase a ghost. Fine. I'll give it my best shot."

Become Long John again; move heaven and earth until he'd find a way to get them too out of here - or die trying, because, right now, John honestly does not feel strong enough yet. And if he fails? James loses too. That's a responsability John doesn't  _want_  to shoulder; but a responsability he will have to - because James asks him to; and a responsability he will most probably find unknown strengths to fight from; so maybe there  _is_  a chance, after all. And he owes James, and Thomas, to take it.

John then turns his attention to the items on his bed, and James can't help but feel that it's like he's already preparing to leave, and James doesn't know if he should shout or cry. It's unnerving how, for all the times they do understand each other without even a word, there are still so many times when they completely misread the other...

James slides once forward on the floor, until he's literally at John's foot. He feels like making physical contact, but as every time when it is not absolutely  _necessary_ , he refrains. No matter how close they've become, James can still count on his fingers the numbers of times he has actually  _touched_  John. It is peculiar, because John is often tactile. But not with him. James is unsure whether it comes from something he himself radiates, or from something inside John that is still somehow prudent around him, or both - but it just is; and James respects the limit, no matter what. He hasn't even crossed that line when he had been granted John out of the dead...

So James has to plead with his voice: "Look at me?" - and wait until John's eyes cross his again.

"I -  _we_  - don't expect anything from you. I just want you to know that you  _have_  a way out of here, whenever,  _if_  ever, you might be willing to take it. But what you do with that knowledge is entirely up to you."

James feels like he is incapable of breathing until knowing that John believes that there is nothing but sincerity in his eyes.

"I would, you know. If you'd ask me to."

It's but a whisper, but John's face is open again - and it only tears at James's heart too. His voice sounds broken to his own hears as he answers.

"I know."

And that's why James knows he won't ever ask.

Silence falls. They do not notice it, lost as they are in each others souls for a while. Maybe that's when they communicate the best anyway - wordlessly.

/

There is an ache in James's heart with John's name on it.

James is the land to Thomas's sun. It needs it to be  _alive_  - without it, it's empty, infertile, dead. Thomas  _completes_  him. He is the brightness to his darkness, the faith to his doubts, the certainty to his fears. But they are no contraries. They are  _complementory:_  Thomas is  _his other_ _part_. A key and its lock. A puzzle made of two pieces. That chinese symbol James saw once in one of Thomas's books, back in London. The two halves of one heart; of one soul. United, they are  _a whole;_  and apart, after having found each other - they just feel  _lacking_. Together, they are a world in balance. Peace. Light.

But James is the sea to John's moon. It doesn't need it to be alive - the winds and currents make it dance to. But whenever the moon pulls? The sea complies. John is  _part of him_. They connect, instinctively - no matter their differences and their misunderstandings. The two sides of a coin. Never to watch in the same direction, never to see each other, even, maybe. But they cannot get lose of the other, since they oddly but definitely became  _one_ , intrinsically tied to each other. So where one goes, the other follows - there is never balance. Clash of storms and yanking tides. Darkness.

And James knows the darkness. So he had been ashamed, when he had realised how much he had been tempted though, at some point in his own blackest hours, as he had finally started seeing John besides Silver, to keep John in the shadows with him - John couldn't miss a light he didn't know; and at least, they both wouldn't be alone. But right then? John had met Madi; and afterwards? James would  _never_  have wished to take him away from her light. Losing it was a feeling he had hoped John would never have to learn. And when they both had thought her lost - those few days? James had had proof that he had been right about what Madi was to him. And it had gutted him to his core to have to witness his loss.

James knows Madi was John's sun. His everything.  _His_ _Thomas_. That's why he had written that letter to Madi - John was giving him Thomas back; so James owed John a chance at having Madi back too. And knowing he has indeed repaid that debt, James feels redeemed, somehow. He has done  _right_. But James still owes John - he will ALWAYS owe John now. Because John has saved his life; over and over, numerous times (that it had been for his own interest in the beginning doesn't change that fact). Because John gave him Thomas back, no matter the cost. And because Thomas is still alive and well and here with him; while Madi is gone - so soon; too soon - and John is back in the dark, alone; this time for good, and knowing what he misses. And James knows that feeling too.

Also: Thomas is James's standfast; he lifts him up, supports him. Thomas is a rock. Solid. Strong. Ever present. And Thomas  _survives_ , no matter what, barely altered. He has been mistreated, he has been brought down, again and again - but he is still bright, good, and strong. James had been awed, when he had realized how  _himself_  Thomas still was, no matter how much he had been wronged. James is sure though Miranda wouldn't have been. She knew him longer; she knew him better. Thomas was her sun too; and her faith in him was astounding. Maybe that's what had given her the strength to do as he had asked - protect him. But James knows now too. Thomas  _doesn't_  need him. Yet he has chosen to need him, and to keep needing him - and honestly the wonder in this feels like a gift from above James never felt worthy of, but is nothing but grateful for anyway.

But John? John  _endures_ _._ He's always been but a patched-up gaping wound, still bleeding under the bandage. Madi had been the one holding the bandage tight enough, day by day, for the wound to start to heal shut. But now that she's gone - and has actually taken the whole bandage away with her? John just bleeds out. So: John  _needs_  him.

And James obliges. James wants to help. Because  _he_  had had help; and no matter how much he had resented it - how much he had resented  _her_ _-_  at the time, James knows he would have been utterly lost without it - and would have never lived long enough to get his second chance either... And so, he'll be John's missing leg. He'll be John's Miranda. He'll be whatever John needs him to be...

/

They do not mention it ever again.

But the next chance at a private conversation with Thomas he has, John makes  _Thomas_  promise what he couldn't ask James to promise - because he felt James would have found a way not to promise him anything. But Thomas  _is_  to ask him; if the moment ever comes this place grows unbearable to any of them. And Thomas promises.

.

_Backstory:_

_James's moon tattoo is prior he met the Hamiltons. His mother (long dead) used to tell him his freckles were like stars; and when he went Navy and learned to navigate with the night sky he felt his 'nocturnal sky' skin missed a moon so he added one. It's related to his love for his mother and his love for navigation, so it's forever VALID._

_Anyway, that's why in London, James used to see himself as the moon - because his skin was nocturnal (stars freckles and moon tattoo) and because it was the missing poetic spot in their triangle, so it made sense somehow even if it wasn't 100% accurate (because you bet his moon and thomas's sun shone together and not apart) - because Thomas was the sun and Miranda was both the earth that grounded them and the sky that held them up._

_(Feel free now to join the club 'Forever crying over Miranda'…)_

_._

_On the 'practical' side, I think it's due time I share my 'view' of The Shame Farm - just so you can imagine how they live, in this fic. I won't say it's right - do not get me wrong. But I just can't want to believe it's the worst of evils. It's already bad enough as it is. Read the (way too long) end note if you feel like it, but please do not hang me for wanting it for them not to be the WORST..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I expected the reunion to happen in a tiny dark room; and it was out on the open, and they kissed, in 1700's, under the bright sunlight; and no one cared - not only about the kissing, but also about the stopping working.
> 
> Because there is a limit to how much one can lie to oneself; and that Oglethorpe is just too believing that he is better than most to actually be in fact just the same or even worse.
> 
> Because at this time, most nobles would always prefer death to slavery. Both for themselves and their relatives.
> 
> Because it is A COLLECTION. Maybe not one Oglethorpe can actually boost about; but one he relishes on in private, sure. And what do you do with your collections? You take care of them. You keep them safe from harm. Because that's the only way to enjoy them for a long time.
> 
> Because if you're paid to keep someone, it's your job to KEEP. Some people may send emissaries from time to time to check how their relatives fare.
> 
> Because we don't see rags, and we don't see marks from fresh physical abuse.
> 
> Because that text on the door can be interpreted in many ways, and that those can be contradictory.
> 
> Because with what Oglethorpe wins by selling his sugar/whatever grown by people he doesn't pay more than by feeding/clothing/etc them a minimum decently, and by taking a fee for 'interning', he is still richer than necessary, with the luxury of a (from the time) quite clean conscience.
> 
> So, here is my vision of their daily life (overthinking?me?):
> 
> \- there are separate spaces:
> 
> * the ones 'bought instead of being hanged', who are the most common and the most hard-working, probably (but not actually treated badly either). But knowing they escaped death, I figure it would mean something to them.
> 
> * the pregnant unmarried girls, who gets to stay at the house until the time comes and then are send back to their families - and the babies are entrusted to someone outside the farm and are followed until they reach adulthood - to be able to give news, if ever ask
> 
> * the ones who are sold in - because their families are afraid or ashamed of them, aka the mentally ill ones or the physically misformed, who needs intensive care and/or high security
> 
> * the ones who are sold in - mostly for being different; politic free-thinkers, against the king, against the rules, or gays, or atheists, or all of those at once, aka "the collection". The lords, captains and kings. They work too, because we're humans, and we need validation, we need to feel useful, so they have to have something to DO. But they have a softer treatment than the ex-convicts.
> 
> \- there are guards, and they are armed. both for show (potential clients expects armed guards) and for security (in case one of the 'crazy' goes on an accidental killing spree, to put it simply)
> 
> \- they eat in common. and there are common spaces to wash.
> 
> \- but they have private cells, like in a monastery. a bed, a chair, a table... simple, but private (maybe not all of them, the convicts have maybe dormitories. but 'the collection' does have private quarters.) (James and Thomas were offered by inmates adjacent spaces, and they blocked a door and holed the separating wall (let's say it's mostly wood, so...) to make a common space. John has a cell for himself. And it always stays that way.)
> 
> \- most are christian religious - occidental 1700's, right. so. they all have sunday off the fields. not that they don't have to work at all (they clean up, repair, whatever) but it's 'off'. there's also a church building, sort of. i'm not sure a priest gets there every sunday (Oglethorpe might simply read from the bible), but maybe once a month? once every 2 months? but they do get communion, if they want. and they get last sacraments; if they want, and if there is time for it.
> 
> So it's a jail, no doubt. It's wrong, it's unfair - because most of the people here probably haven't in fact done anything truly wrong (Oglethorpe is not crazy, he's not gonna buy the early equivalent of Jack The Ripper, so I bet the convicts are mostly thieves who tried to steal from nobles in order to survive to start with). But it's not THE WORST. And of course I would prefer to have them all out. Keeping them here HURTS me. But there are 20 f$#%#$g YEARS, and James DIED AT SAVANNAH "of old rhum" (= if he had escaped he wouldn't have stayed in the neighboorhood to start with, and the 'rhum' thing is because that's what people thought - because they knew he was captive), and I just can't throw it all out of the window, no matter how much I would want it, purely for commodity... So I just had to find a way to live with it - and THIS is it. I don't expect anyone to agree. But I just had to find a way to BEAR it a minimum, so please just don't burst my bubble?


	12. Chapter 12

_Warning: it hurts._ _(I finally wrote it. I’ve been struggling with it for so long, even considered chickening out and making just a memo; but Madi deserved better, and so here it is. And now, I need a hug.)_

 **VI.**  

John excuses himself instead of stopping at their place for a card game after dinner. It's not in itself that unusual, but added to the  _off_  impression he had seemed to wear all day, and the fact that it's about 11 months that he arrived, James and Thomas can't help but think that it might be the anniversary of Madi's and their child's passing. And so James goes to check on him.

John is sitting outside, on the stairs before his door. His head is bowed down, forehead resting against one fisted hand, elbow on his knee, and James's heart constricts from such a sight: he doesn't think John is sobbing - he is too still for it; but his whole posture emanes utter despair. James approaches, making sure he makes enough noise in order not to spook John, then sits down next to him, elbows on his knees and hunched forward too, hands entangled. Only then does James notice the thin black braid of hair clutched in John's left fist, laced thrice around his hand.

John's eyes are still closed; and James can only hope the movie behind John's eyelids is the less horrible possible - even if it doesn't change a thing in the end, and if it is too horrible to comprehend anyway… James stays silent, until John finally inhales deeply once and then looks at him. John's face is tears clear, but his eyes are red-rimmed, and daggers to James's heart.

"Would you rather be alone? We thought you shouldn't be, but I don't want to intrude-"

"It's all right. I know you cherished her too."

"You could have told us."

"I didn't want to ruin your evening too. I was overconfident though apparently in my ability to hide it. I apologize."

"There is no need for it."

John sounds angry, even though is voice stays even, and James understands that his anger is directed inwards. "Yes there is. It's stupid. It's not like I need a date- What's about today that wasn't yesterday and won't be tomorrow anyway?"

"I understand."

John sighs: "I know."

James pursues: "And yet, it is so. Especially at the first mark."

"Well, I still think it's stupid.  _I'm_  stupid. (opening his palm, looking at the middle of it, where a tiny ribbon holds hair that is not Madi's tied to one end of Madi's braid) I keep locks of their hairs, as if they held answers I know they do not have; as if there was any strength to draw from them when I know there is none left; as if their hairs could even matter, when there is only forever their absence, and my responsability..."

James's heart breaks all over again. "It wasn't your fault. I know you came here because you felt you should be punished, but I just hope one day you'll realize that it wasn't your fault."

Still looking at his palm, John sighs; and it sounds empty. "You keep believing me to be greater than I am. I am not you, nor Thomas. I came here simply because you had promised me once you'd help; and I had believed you then. I was crying over their bodies, feeling everything and nothing, feeling  _hollow_ ; and The Queen was holding me and calling me 'Son'; and the only thing I could think of, no matter how disgusting it felt, was (that it weren't her arms I needed around me - John had thought but would never tell - and) how relieved, just that once, I was, about knowing where you were - because it meant I knew where to find you. That's the ugly truth of it. I came here simply because I trusted you, and no other, to stop the pain, one way or another."

_I trusted *you, and no other*, *to stop the pain, one way or another*._

James can't help but shout out, everything spiralling down, out of control: "John!?"

He realizes he just called John by his name; and it's strange, that a name that he so often hears in his own mind, and that has so often passed his lips while talking to Thomas, has never been heard before by the one it actually defines.

James can't exactly explain the reason for it. He knows it might have started from the military habit to use last names; both for commodity (for instance, how many Johns would be on one ship - probably a dozen...), and for distance, maybe (because why should anyone wish to get too close to ones one may lose - not every soldier was granted a long carreer...) - even if sometimes it ended meaning more than exchanging first names too somehow... There had been a few exceptions on the Walrus; but the crew had chosen them, and so at some point James just had had to finally abide by that fact, each time it had happened. But the thing is - James has never directly adressed John 'Silver' either... It went from 'you' (of course in the beginning James truly couldn't even  _want_  to address the bloody thief by his name), to another kind of 'you'... But why had James sort of stubbornly kept not using John's first name - no matter how close they had finally become? Was it because he wasn't sure it was his name to start with? Was it because he felt his not-naming as a talisman that would protect John, because he had lost all the ones he had called by their first names? Probably both?

But regardless how significant it might be, that he finally called him 'John'? Right now, it doesn't even matter. The only things noteworthy are that John had wanted to end it all - worse: might still want to end it all? - and that John had thought - hoped even maybe? - that  _James_ might be the one doing the ending?

John thankfully meets his eyes again. His voice is both low and away - yet kind, as if he wills to soothe James's evident panick. "I wanted to join them. Not even out of guilt. Simply because it was the only way to follow them and be with them... But I knew Madi wouldn't have approved…"

James is reassured by the use of the past tense. But he still can't help but feel not only incomprehensive but also downright angry (not offended; just angry - which means it really hurts) that John could even  _think_  - but he tries to convey only the first and not the second: "But how could you think  _I_  could - I  _would_  -"

John sighs. "I knew I had... mattered to you. But you could have grown to resent me since then, even hate me. I considered it a possibility. Not only for all I did on that island. Not only for having brought you here. But for letting Thomas in? Or even for Dooley, at the least? He was nothing but loyal to you and... It would have been more than justified. I would have understood."

"Dooley is entirely on me. I should have made some things much clearer to him than I did…"

John is angry now, once more; but this time, James feels the anger is directed towards him. "No. You were right;  _I_  wasn't thinking clearly. How can I have ever believed that Rogers would just be satisfied with the chest and let her, and us, go… I can't regret showing him the chest when I did - because he _was_  going to kill her right then. But I wasn't the one who saved Madi. You were. You bought us time, and in that time… let's be honest and just say Madi got lucky. But Dooley is on me; along with those five men who went after you; and anyone else we lost there. I understand why you think I shouldn't blame myself about Madi; because that's what I thought while Madi felt responsible about our son. But do not fight me on this. Nor on what I did to you and Thomas. I know I do not deserve your understanding - and even less your support."

A boy. It had been a boy. James isn't sure John has wanted to share this information to start with, nor if he's realized his slip...

James allows his voice to carry now only his concern, and acceptation; no matter his will to fight John about his own responsability in the mess on that island - because things could have gone differently, if he had explained his plan to John before acting - and no matter his internal need still to break something at the thought that John ever considered -: "Well, no matter what you may think, you have both anyway."

John seems to register the words, then lets his eyes drop to his hands again. "I know…" It's no more than the ghost of a whisper, and it sounds shameful, and James isn't sure if he was actually meant to have heard it; but James feels grateful he could catch it nonetheless.

They are silent for a while. James is here to offer company and support - but either silent or talkative is to be John's decision. John has unlaced Madi's braid from around his hand, and is now slowly running it repeatedly through his right hand, from one end (the one tied to the child's hair, which he holds in his left hand along Madi's) to the other, eyes on his hands. Then he stops, opens his palm once more.

"She named him Mmɔbɔ - sadness. Had he been born alive, it would have been Fahodi - freedom; either boy or girl." (*AN1)

James closes his eyes. He feels one silent tear escape anyway.

"Madi died in her sleep. And to think I was relieved when she finally fell asleep in my arms… She had just been through so much… Last time the midwife had checked, she hadn't seen anything alarming. I don't think Madi knew - she wouldn't have left me without *something*… But when the blood stain appeared and kept growing, and I shouted for help and shook her, calling out for her… It all happened so fast, and I realized this only afterwards, of course, but... She was by then already gone. Her heart was still beating; but she was already gone."

James still can't speak. It's too profound, and too raw. Their boy. Madi. John's pain; then, now, and until his last day. John's honesty and trust, and not only about the facts. All that James has learned this evening… Maybe it's because John doesn't want James to have to wonder anymore about the worst of how it went. Maybe it's because John just needs to get some of it out, finally. But if it's the second? James will take it. He'd take it all; if only he could.

"The Queen wasn't surprised when I said I would be leaving. I couldn't be their King-to-be without Madi anyway. She understood. Kofi's brother (*AN2) will be next, I guess; Julius is at another camp."

James thinks they've reached the end of the tale, and collects himself. He has to get himself back under controle. For John. And for Madi, who would expect him not to fail John.

John isn't over yet though: "When the funeral came… I still didn't want to leave them. They were laid in, together, I had insisted, and the only thought I still had was that I belonged there too - with them. So I thought they should have a part of me with them, at least. You know how Madi used to tie braids in my hair? So I cut one of those and linked their hands with it. And then I took some of their hairs - because I didn't want them to leave me alone too; no matter how pointless it was."

And James can't address the rest, but  _this_ , he can help with. So James pulls at the three leather cords around his neck (loose enough to hang, but not loose enough to get past his head) showing to John the ring attached to them.

"See this ring?"

"I noticed it right away - I had never seen it before. It's Thomas's, right? I saw he wears one of yours that way too." (*AN3)

"Yes, it's Thomas's. But he gave it to me more than 15 years ago, not here. And when I thought him gone? It was the most sacred thing I owned. I was afraid of losing it if I wore it (*AN4), and afraid of losing it if I left it hidden somewhere. I ended keeping it in a dubbel-layered leather pouch sewed in the waist of all of my undertrousers, under the belts. Now, that's where I keep Miranda's favourite pair of earrings, the one jewelry she had told me we would never sell, no matter what. I was so relieved to find them in their usual cache after Charlestown... And those earrings were so meaningful to Miranda because - as I learned when I asked Thomas if he wanted to keep one for himself - they were Thomas's first gif to her. Memento's are indeed pointless, but for most people, they're necessary all the same. There are days you hate them, and days you cherish them; but most of all, days you just  _need_  to know you have them."

John nods. He takes one breath.

"Thomas doesn't though, if you still carry two earrings."

"He does too; his just isn't material."

"His Faith?"

"Yes."

"I envy him."

"That makes two of us."

(Silence.)

"We're of the same mind though... I carry them in a tin box in here", John says, pulling his shirt out of his trousers at his side and indicating a thick (most probably dubble layered too) leather pouch tied under his shirt, around his waist, by no less than five different ropes.

"I thought so. I didn't know what it was exactly you carried in it; but I thought so." John gives him a look, and James explains. "It doesn't show, don't be concerned. But I felt it, once: that time your crutch slipped on the mud."

John nods, and kind of shrugs.

They share silence again for some time. At some point, John laces the braid back around his hand.

"You should go back to Thomas."

James isn't surprised that John finally wills to be alone. He knew that moment would come. He tries though, unwanted fear creeping in and making it impossible to just let John on his own right now: "You could join us. You wouldn't need to participate in conversation. We could play dice or cards; just see you through the night…"

John meets his eyes, and the tone of his voice does feel like a promise: "I'll be alright." When John sees that James has understood what he meant, he goes on more softly: "I just need some time on my own."

And now that he feels reassured about John's will to see yet another day, James can't refuse him. He knows some things are better done in private.

So James nods, and John gets up. The hairs are still laced in his hands, and James knows they will stay there until he falls asleep - if he falls asleep.

James calls out back, somehow helplessly: "John?"

James realizes he's done it again. It shouldn't be a surprise though; once the dam is breached, what stops him from doing it again? And honestly... James realizes he likes it.

John turns back to him, and James meets his eyes dead-on.

"I won't tell you it will get easier; because it won't. But I can tell you you will grow stronger."

_You have to._

_For me, please, if not for you._

John's eyes seem to soften, as if, once more, to appease James.

"I feel slightly less angry at the world simply for still turning around lately, if that's what you mean."

When your world suddenly stops; when time, for you, has suddenly frozen - it hurts to see everything and everyone else just going on, indeed. James remembers that anger; how he had used to lash out at Miranda, because he had known she would understand, because he had known she would not only take it, but even forgive it… It had happened less and less in time; because James had come to realize how unfair it was to her - to force her to be the strong one of the two of them. Miranda had barely ever lashed out at him...

Nor John; but that's because he lashes out at himself. So. James knows it means that John still feels  _guilty_ , for even breathing - while they are gone; for any second of not-thinking-about-them he realizes has passed; for any stolen moment of joy, of respite; for laughing; for enjoying  _anything at all_  to start with… James knows that road is long, and reaching its end is not even an option. But John is now walking the path, at least…

"That's a start, then."

"I guess."

John turns and takes the few steps towards his door. He turns back though before opening it.

"James?"

So. John has noticed, huh... The warmth though that blossoms in James's chest at being addressed so by John is more than worth his slip. But it feels as if there is a true question in John's voice, along the call for attention, and James nods, signalling his consent.

"Thank you. For this. For everything."

"Any time, John."

_And thank you, for having believed that old promise, and for having accepted my help, even when you didn't want to_.

John nods once more. He turns. The door opens. The door closes. James stays, just a minute, in case the door would reopen. When it doesn't, he goes back to Thomas. The last thing he wishes after all would be to be able to hear John cry…

_._

_Backstory (*AN2): what Silver doesn't know is that Kofi had another brother … who used to be Madi's first love(r)…_

_Madi before Silver, a headcanon :_

_1) The way she moves and looks at Silver, Madi is no virgin. (you can't not know what moment i mean!)_

_2) She is Queen-to-be. Her virginity feels important to her - not because it's something she feels pressured about by others, but because she is all about her duties. She wouldn't have done it with some meaningless dude just to get rid of it._

_3) If you love Madi, it is just impossible to stop loving her, right !_

_Conclusion:_

_Madi's first love was one of Kofi's younger brothers (he had two younger brothers - she was with the 2nd born, the middle one). They loved each other since they were kids and well, as they grew up, it evolved. But then. He died…_

_(And because I'm an awful person:)_

_He was wounded by white slaves hunters and died at the camp from his wounds (yep, like her dad (i don't call him mr scott) - i warned you, i'm an awful person). It's cruel but necessary that she saw him dead - because would he have been captured, of course, she would have moved earth and all to find him back :(_

_But what matters is: her first love died, killed by white men._

_And then she meets Silver and loves him anyway - despite the colour of his skin. Can you imagine it ? The purity of her heart to start with, and the force of her love for him, to be able to see past what has happened ?_

_(Oh look, I made myself cry yet again :()_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * AN1 : What John doesn't say is that they had thought of 'Anidaso' (hope) for a second girl, and yes, 'James' for a second son… (They saw themselves growing into this happy family with cute kids and James and Thomas as neighbours after having helped them out and OUINNNNNNNNNNNNNN I'll never not cry about this :().
> 
> Also, I tried to trace the names from the show and found Kofi (akan), Eme (a lot of languages, but from Africa = igbo), Obi (igbo) and Zaki (arabic) - but I kept with Akan words, because Kofi was very close to the Queen and Madi, and I found 'Dwumadi', an akan twi word for action/activity, which fits Madi (much more imo than Madi being a variation of Madeleine of whatever…) so what if it was shortened in fact that way ? I realize akan names are normally not 'meanings' but 'circumstances' (ie second (etc) born, good year, born on monday (etc)); but I tried 'something'. Do not hesitate to tell me if it's just not to be done, I seriously do not mean disrespect or anything - or send me better ideas ?
> 
> *AN3 : Yes, of course, they kind of married (my heart :)) They both wear the ring around the neck - on your hands isn't handy when you work growing crops, so… (my heart :()
> 
> *AN4 : James wore it though, once - the only time the meaning of actually wearing it overcame the fear of losing it while wearing it (aka, as we all kind of agreed on, when he killed Alfred Hamilton). (MY STABBED AND FOREVER BLEEDING HEART)
> 
> .
> 
> Bury me with Madi and Mmɔbɔ. Bury me with Miranda. Bury me with John's and James's and Thomas's feelings. Just bury me.


	13. Chapter 13

**VII.**

They are playing Tarot. John is winning, until Thomas succeeds in turning it all around by chance at the last round. John's surprised face at Thomas's victorious smirk is nothing but endearing; James has to laugh, even feels like bumping his fist in John's shoulder for good measure - but doesn't. Instead, he turns towards Thomas, still smiling: "You lucky cheat. You owe him a rematch." They end up agreeing for the next evening and after some more little chat John takes his leave, wishing them good night.

James is surprised by the intensity in Thomas's gaze when he turns back to him after having closed the door.

"I know you hope he'll leave one day. But I refuse to believe you would try to force his hand about it. Am I wrong?"

James is puzzled at the turn the conversation takes. But if one asks, the other answers. It's always been like that, between them; an unspoken rule they long ago committed each other too. James retakes his seat next to Thomas.

"I would never indeed. He's not strong enough yet to face whatever - whoever - might be waiting for him outside. But why do you think this is something we should discuss right now?"

"When you finally started using each other names, I thought you both had finally reached some understanding... But it's been months, and your name still always fall from his lips like a question... So I wonder... Do you think he's going to stay long still, if he believes he's unwanted?"

"What do you mean, Thomas? Unwanted? I... I love him. He knows that."

James's hesitation has been the shortest, and Thomas feels trusted at the finally spoken out loud admission; even if nothing of it is new knowledge, and even if Thomas had made transparent long ago to James that he knows.

"He does, indeed. But I think you're still missing the point."

"Which is?"

"That he might think that you do not *want* to love him."

"What are you talking about?"

"You never touch him."

James freezes, and Thomas pushes his point.

"I see it, you know. When you feel like laying a hand on his shoulder, like when he arrived. You always refrain. And you just did it again. You orbite around him though - most often at his lost leg side, to be able to stop a fall; but you switch just ahead of him, within reach at his good leg side, if the path is muddy, or steep, or whenever he looks tired - always willing to lend him a shoulder to lean on, if he needs extra support to lift himself up. And the wondrous thing is: he does take your shoulder, most of the times. Even though he always insists he's all right whenever someone shows concern; even though he even gets agited, if he thinks he's showing any sign of weakness; even though he doesn't  _want_  to be  _taken care of_. He trusts you that much. Not to feel diminished, if it's  _you_  helping him. But your contact is limited to you helping, so how do you think he might come to feel about such a fact?"

"I never thought..."

"Maybe he never wondered about it before. I assume you had to appear distant in general - to keep people from getting close, because you didn't want to get hurt again; and maybe he thought that was the way you were anyway ... But since he's here? He can see that you  _are_  naturally affectionate, James. Not only with me; with  _everyone else_. The way you held onto Edward, even after his wound was patched up? Just yesterday when you patted Christopher on the shoulder?"

"That kid just lost his eldest. That he's a guard doesn't mean- You of all people-"

"-That's not the point. The point is you literally touch anyone but him. And it might have consequences you do not wish for, so I thought I should mention it, in case you weren't aware-"

James seems cornered. "I am aware of it, Thomas." Thomas is now the one surprised, and James sighs. "It's just... I never felt he would welcome it."

Thomas doesn't need long pondering about the revelation, and lays a hand above James's hand reassuringly.

"What are you saying? That you do not believe that he *does* love you to start with? I know you didn't love yourself when you met him - do you somehow refuse to comprehend that he could see through it all and love you anyway? Or do you mean that he doesn't *want* to love you either? I know there is so much luggage, between you two... I realize loving me and Miranda was easy. Loving Madi was easy. You love me, you loved Miranda, you loved Madi, and he loved Madi, *because*. But you two? You love each other, *despite*; and that must be a difficult way to love indeed."

James actually takes some time to answer, but Thomas knows the answer will be honest, as always.

"It's both, I think." James sags backwards in his chair, helplessly running his hands once down his own face as he sighs. "You agree that it can't be healthy, at least."

_Says the one who refused to move on for over 10 years even though thinking I was dead?_

Thomas is not cruel and will not say this, though. He just argues back the point, as gently as possible.

"I realize it might feel disputable; but how can you doubt that it is true, either way? Why do you think he came here for, if not-?"

"He came here because he thought I might put him out of his misery." The undeniable anger there is still palpable in his tone, and James closes his eyes to calm it back down.

"Oh... He told you."

James is now looking at him as if stabbed in the back. "You knew?"

"No, James, I didn't. But I'm not surprised. You weren't around when he arrived. To put it mildly: he was tensed. Of course, the moment you came in, and obviously meant him no harm, it disappeared; so you couldn't know. But I could tell the diference."

James doesn't look betrayed anymore, and Thomas plays his next card.

"Besides. Is it not what  _you_  tried too? Putting yourself into harm's way, over and over? Provoking even greater risks, any time you had just survived whatever you had been tempting fate with?"

Thomas can't help though but hear anger building this time in his voice at the words, and cuts himself short with a sigh.

"At least, he gave you a chance to save him; coming to you, instead of provoking the first drunken sod he could have easily found if he had tried to. Would you rather have he had?"

James is now nothing but appalled. "No. Of course not."

"Then let it rest, James. He was in no state of thinking clearly, if he ever truly did believe it. And he might not have been aware that what he thought he wanted wasn't entirely what he actually wanted to start with... Anyway, why do you think he's  _still_  here for, then?"

James's gaze drops.

"He came here also because he trusted  _me_  to understand his loss, and help. And as I took him in instead of- he knows I love him enough, wanting or not, to accept it and help him."

James finds his eyes again.

"But I lost any right for more long ago. I told him Madi- I told him something unforgivable, Thomas."

There's despair in James's voice now, and Thomas can't help but inch forward soothingly.

"Did he tell you? That it was unforgivable?"

"No."

"So how can you know that it was?"

And James inches forward too, drawn to Thomas as he opens his soul to him, voice unflenching yet soft as he drops, well, a bomb.

"Because some wounds are bound to fester. Nothing can erase the words I said, just like nothing can erase the words he didn't say."

And Thomas hears exactly what James is saying.

"Oh my... He's right."

_How painful it must be, for the both of you. You love him, while wishing you wouldn't, because you actually think he probably doesn't. And he loves you - he so obviously does - while thinking you do too, but doesn't want to, and he is right..._

Thomas tries to understand: "You told me you-"

"I know what I said. And I  _do_  want to believe him. It's either believe him or hate him and I... Yet still..." James takes one of his hands between his own, kissing it once gently before keeping holding it like it is the most precious thing in the world. "How could he not tell me, my Thomas? If he loved me? How could he not tell me you were alive right when he knew it?"

And Thomas aches. But Thomas isn't the one able to soothe that wound.

"Well, I am not the one able to answer that question, am I?"

_Honestly? Do you ever actually TALK to each other?_

There's a flash of something akin to fear in James's eyes, and Thomas knows this is the heart of the problem.

"You won't ask him though..."

It is not a question, because Thomas doesn't want James to feel like he owes him to explain. James explains though.

"I asked him, once, something meaningful; for me at least. I had told him everything; *you* - where I came from. But when I asked him about his past? He eluded it. And I accepted it. But I don't think I could forgive him - not about this - if I was to ask him, and he refused to answer again."

Thomas brings his free hand to their joined hands too, and squeezes.

"Then don't. But if you want to help him? Find a way to have him understand that he's allowed to say your name, at the least..."

They keep holding hands in silence for a while.

"I am sorry, my Thomas."

James's eyes are nothing but soft now, and unquestionably full of love, and Thomas understands James is now adressing Thomas's anger about his spiralling towards his own destruction tendency while they were apart; something he might never have realized, if he hadn't been himself confronted with it recently.

"Don't be. I love you. And I won't ever have you apologize for loving me."

_Know no shame._

"Tell me you know that I love you. And that I *want* to love you."

"I do, my James."

_I see it any time you look at me. I hear it any time you say my name. I feel it any time you touch me. I taste it any time you kiss me. I even smell it, any time-_

And then Thomas kisses him, reverently, and James just lets his love(r) wash that new guilt away...

 


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _4.07:_   
>  _S: Is this war more important than her life?_   
>  _F: [sighs]_   
>  _S: Answer the question. I wanna hear you say it. Is this war more important than her life?_   
>  _F: Right now with what's at stake... yes, it is more important._   
>  _S: Oh, fuck you!_   
>    
> 

**VIII.**

A few days later, James thinks he has THE solution. A way not only for John to feel truly accepted, but also to give him something helpful, hopefully, to face the outside world when the time would come.

And Thomas, as always, is more than willing to help...

/

A week later, on Sunday, John is surprised to find James on the stairs before his door as he comes back from cleaning himself - James usually accompanies Thomas to church.

James answers his puzzled look with a shrug, explaining while fiddling with his fingers: "It's just Oglethorpe today. And there's something I meant to ask you." 'Privately enough but without you having to walk for long' goes unsaid, but John hears it anyway. So John just sits next to James, concerned, and waits for whatever James has to say.

"I thought we should resume your sword training; if you were so enclined, of course."

John can't believe his ears. His mouth falls open, words rushing out of it:

"You would still? ... After I-"

"I would." With a shy smile, James points with a finger behind their backs. "I do."

John is surprised again as he turns and sees two wooden swords laying on the upper step. Their forms and lengths look oddly familiar (James's real one still waiting for his owner in a trunk now guarded by The Queen) and John realizes with yet added wonder that James must have made them himself...

"The weight isn't exactly right of course. But it's good enough for practice: technique, footwork, endurance. And we won't have to worry about cut-"

John can't help but interrupt; allowing his eyes to convey just how much this exactly means to him.

"How can you. _.."_

John lowers his gaze to the ground then - ashamed, still, years later.

"I meant it. In case you thought I hadn't? I meant it."

James sighs.

"Well... I had it coming, hadn't I... After what I had said about Madi-"

John hasn't expected  _this_  at all; he has to find James's eyes again:

"What you had said  _about Madi_?"

James is surprisingly the one to look ashamed, now.

"I won't repeat it; but I know it must have been hard to hear; and it  _must_  have had you doubt my friendship... And here I was, reprimanding you for wasting time instead of working at saving her - after having told you... I understand how you couldn't believe I meant it then; how you must have felt I was only trying to  _use_  her against you, just as Billy had tried against me..."

And that's when it clicks.

"Wait. Are you talking about... what you said about Madi and the war when Roger's letter arrived ?"

"Of course."

"Is  _that_  somehow also related to why you took the cache behind my back on Skeleton's Island?"

"I felt you wouldn't understand such a plan of action  _was_  our best chance; not after what I had said..."

And the only thing John can retort is:

"Fuck."

"Wasn't it the reason-"

"No! When you told- I was  _angry_ , yes. But I understood. I could relate. Those days while we had thought her gone... I  _had_  wanted that war then, and you know it, with all I had left. You had  _years_  of that rage; and it had been fed again recently... Your reaction infuriated me, of course; but believe me when I tell you that I was able to understand: you had fought too long for the dead to be able to remember what it was to fight for the living. So you couldn't have anything - anyone - having precedence over that war; because it would mean giving it precedence over your losses. Those words were why I didn't tell you about digging out the cache; but they had nothing to do with... I  _knew_  that you really cared for Madi; beyond what she represented - for who she was. You had liked her even before she had started liking you. And I also knew she would agree with you. Why did you think I agreed we even tried it your way, if you thought..."

James seems confused. And maybe guilty.

"Do you truly think it would have gone differently? If I had explained to you why I had to take the chest?"

John takes some time before answering.

"I want to say yes. I want to believe I would have listened."

John's voice turn soft; somehow pleading.

"Because all that happened on that damn island? It had nothing to do with anything you ever said sincerely. It had only to do with the fact that I felt you had  _lied_. You had just sworn to my face that I had your support, about trading the cache. And right after, you took it away? I know now it was, actually, a way to support me. But then? The way it went? It just felt like you were stabbing me, and Madi, in the back; and this, I couldn't forgive."

John turns his head, looking straight ahead, but not downwards; allowing James to read his profile if not his eyes as he goes on, regret now evident in his voice.

"And the betrayal made me look at everything under a new light; made me think you must have been in fact just playing me all along - while I believed we had grown past this; while  _I_  definitely _was_ past this... And to be honest: it hurt more than I would have liked. So in that moment? Yes, I did hate you enough to want you dead. So I sent men. I knew they would probably meet their end too, but I had to find the cache; it was all your fault anyway. And when I found you; again, you refused to hand over the cache. And then you shot Dooley; instead of me, I realized - and I felt guilty about his blood on the ground too, and I hated you for it even more... and so I raised my sword against you."

John sighs before pursuing: "But the truth is: I honestly don't know if it would have changed a thing in the end. You were right about me not thinking straight then. Besides, we can't rewrite the past anyway..."

John meets James's eyes again, and there's wonder in his voice as he ends: "Yet here we are now; and you're willing to spar with me, as if none of it has ever happened..."

James apparently wasn't prepared for John's struggle at the concept. "I told you it was- I told you  _we were_  repairable, didn't I?"

John nods. "You did." He sighs again. "But I couldn't believe you then - even if, honestly, I wanted to. But that bond we had? I thought that you had broken it the moment you had lied to me; and that I had broken it the moment I had raised my sword against you - you had an history of answering to mutiny... It's only when Madi let me read your letter that I realized you had actually meant it, even then..."

So James is now the one surprised.

"So you still mistrusted me. And yet, you gave me Thomas...?"

And the honest wonder in James's voice and in James's eyes makes it impossible for John not to let out: "You can't  _not_  know why..."

But John sees it in James's eyes: James doesn't - not really. And so, right now, faced with the enormity of what James has just given to him? John feels he  _has_  to give something back. It doesn't come to him naturally; letting his defenses down, opening up. Even with Madi; but her neverending patience always ended coaxing him into giving her  _everything_  anyway, and she had been expert at reading between his lines to start with. John had used to believe James adept at reading between the lines too; but maybe they had got so blurred, at some point, they had finally turned undecipherable...

John can't keep holding James's gaze though, and stares straight ahead once more.

"I had seen you force reality to bend, by the sheer force of your will, so often... But when we hit the sunken boats, I realized my faith and overconfidence were illusions. And when I emerged from the water, and found you all gone - dead? prisoners soon to be dead? - I knew. I couldn't lose her. Nor you. And definitely not the both of you. Billy had it wrong, you see... The choice was never Madi  _or_  you. It was losing you both or saving you both - even if you'd both hate me for it. So. I had to end it - your war; her war... But I didn't know how. Until-

The next bit is harder to confess, and John's eyes momentarily find the ground.

"What I told you is true: when Max told me about this place? I wanted Thomas to be here - for you. That's all. It hit me like a block - that hope. The first selfless wish I've ever had..."

"John-"

John holds a hand out, interrupting whatever James is about to say - he isn't finished; and he  _must_  get it out, all of it, and not only the best lighted parts.

"But it's not all of it. Because when I hinted at the possibility? It got obvious then that you couldn't bear the thought of it;because of how much in fact you would be ready to trade for it -  _everything_. And that's when the original wish got an added layer; and a selfish one. What can I say; you know me - I see an opportunity, I take it. So I didn't tell Madi either about my investigation. Because if I did find Thomas? And  _you chose_  to turn away from the war? It might have been you she might have blamed, instead of me... I knew she couldn't do  _nothing_ ; but having her not marching to war on the frontline? So I started to hope Thomas would be here; in my own interest too... It would be the perfect solution; if only it could be true! You would be happy; I would be happy; and Madi would be happy too - once she would have realized that she  _was_  more useful alive and working on the background  _a life long_ \- longer than if she died in a war doomed to be lost anyway... When I came back without you and without the cache? Madi accused me of having planned to betray her trust all along. And I couldn't deny it; because it was true. I have never lied to her. Coming from me, I suppose one might says it means something. But I  _was_  guilty, of that one omission. And I knew its price. I had always known its price. I had just hoped I might not have to pay it; but I had always been ready to... And I should have had to pay it in full... It's a recurrent dream, now. Her ordering me to leave the island. How I wish she would have... I would happily trade those years that mean the most in my life, if it could give her another chance to do just so. I only wanted her to live; and I ended up being her end. She deserved better. Obviously, anyway, better than me."

John's voice sounds about to crack, and James feels compelled to soothe John's hurt; even knowing he can't.

"John-"

Once more though, he is cut off by an imperative hand gesture.

John takes a breath. His voice is levelled again; but lower, heavy with guilt and with the weight of the depths he is about to reveal.

"You know I can't say I never lied to you. But I can tell I stopped to, for what it's worth; after the shark hunt. I withheld valuable information from you too though - information that concerned you, I mean; and I know I shouldn't have. How I went to Julius; asking him what he'd rather have: war with the chest, or peace without. How I took the cache as a back-up plan, knowing I'd have support for it on the island, should it come to that. Because even if I hoped your plan would work, I  _had_ to be ready if it didn't. So I am the one responsible for the mess on that island; don't ever feel otherwise. I didn't trust you to understand; just like you didn't trust me - but I was first with that fault. Who knows how things would have gone, if I had talked... But the worst omission still, I know, is about Thomas. I know I should have told you he was alive right the moment I saw you again after Morgan had told it to me... I don't even know why I didn't... I could tell you it was because I was blaming you for Madi's death; even  _knowing_  it wasn't your fault. Simply because you had been there. I blamed myself too, for  _not_  having been there. But you  _had_  been there. I could tell you it was because I couldn't lose the power of your rage, if I was going to avenge her the way I wanted to. I could tell you it was because grief is such an ugly selfish beast that I simply hadn't thought to tell you. I could even tell you, maybe, that I didn't tell you because I knew it would mean losing you, too, while you were all I had left, and I wasn't ready to make that cut... But the truth is; I honestly don't know what the truth is."

John meets James's eyes again. He focuses though not on reading what those eyes say to him - and right now, they say plenty - but on making his own eyes clear for James to read his sincerity.

"But when you came to me, and said you'd help me through it? I suddenly realized I still hadn't told you yet, and I felt so ashamed... So I  _was_  about to tell you - if it can mean something now, way past due time... But right that moment, we were summoned by the Queen - and then I couldn't tell because I needed you focused, in order to save Madi... But giving you Thomas had always been the plan anyway."

It's too much, though; and John has to break contact.

"So. When Rackham told me about the plan for the future of Nassau, he presented taking you away to that place Max had talked to him about as being merciful; because he was supposed to eliminate you. And he told he needed part of the cache for it - their allies couldn't pay for your 'retirement', as you were supposed to die. But I knew you would never let Rackham take you away quietly; and he knew it too. He was going to try, of course - but mostly so that he could say later that he had; an excuse... So when it came to it? He had no means to pay. And he had the numbers; our crew was so dimished - and wasn't even a crew at this point to start with. But you hadn't taken my life, while you could have had - and twice; it had dawned on me, by that point, that you had only been blocking as I had been attacking you... And Madi had been saved thanks to you; at the least, even when I still couldn't see the whole picture, thanks to your naval tactician battle choices. So I owed you; not only your life, but Thomas too... There was also more to it - whether I liked it or not; but those facts at least were irrefutable and tangible, and I was glad to have them justifying the path I had already chosen, simply because I couldn't let you die - not anymore; not when you had opened that door again, and I wished that what showed through it was true. I was ready to discard my chance at happiness; but I wouldn't discard  _yours_. So I told Rackham that I could pay, and that I'd try to convince you; and even though I didn't tell him why I thought I could succeed, he sensed I believed I could - and he was happy enough to let me take that blame..."

"And so you went down in history as the villain on that story; bringing me to those gates."

"It couldn't matter. Not if it saved you. Besides, I  _have_  more than enough blood on my conscience to fit that part. And I know what I did. I realized, later on, how I had not only  _sold_ you, but also let Thomas down; betraying you, and everything you ever fought for, twice. So I'll honestly understand if you reconsidered-"

"John. Stop it; please. Everything you just said... If anything, it only gives me more reasons to improve your sword skills. Can you just accept that?"

John meets his eyes; searches into them for any sign of doubt, probably. He finds none.

"Thank you."

And James can hear his whole soul behind those few words... 

A moment passes. It feels so  _right_ , to have cleared the air... And that's maybe why, combined with the fact that they just conjured up so many memories, it's out of his mouth before John can stop it:

"Were there other letters? In case Thomas wouldn't have been here?"

James seems to understand that John has been wondering about this for a long time. He holds John's gaze as he sincerely answers:

"No. I figured no letter would do just as much damage anyway. But mostly... I wanted to believe you.  _And I was right to._ "

And John feels like giving something back once more; there is still something he has to confide.

"I  _had_  to be here anyway, that day; when you would see Thomas..."

"To play the part."

"Of course. But that's not what I meant... I had to see you with him. I had to know you would be happy, somehow, even if... It mattered... And I must admit I was curious, also. I had to see  _him_... (John hesitates but then just lets it out, encouraged by the softness in James's gaze; even though his eyes dart away while finishing) The one who had shaped the one who had shaped me."

And it had felt intrinsically  _right_ , in a way John had never thought upon until right then, when he had seen that Thomas looked  _nothing_  like him - blond, and so tall... John could be sure James hadn't let him close because he had been softened to him by his looks - and to someone who had so often been valued only by them, it was bound to mean something - even if knowing now that people came to  _truly_  care for people for what they were, and not for how they looked... But then, maybe James would have never let him close if he had ressembled Thomas; resenting him more or less consciously simply because he would have been the vague image of the one he longed for: so easy to reach yet so unreachable? and so mesmerizing maybe yet so painful probably to even look look at? Maybe somehow Billy had been doomed from the start? Who could tell. What was was, anyway.

Of course, since knowing Thomas? John knows he  _is_  nothing like Thomas either. John had used to think that, maybe, James's vision of Thomas had been made more golden than truth by his loss. But he knows now: Thomas  _is_  just  _pure gold_. And sometimes, John can't help but wonder at how James can have ever come to love  _him_  then; after such a high standard - on any account, to be honest...

John knows though when he meets James's gaze once more, that it was, and is still true, beyond doubt, anyway: the way James is looking at him, right now, says it all...

And John feels at a loss, flustered, not knowing how to proceed, after such an open admission. 

And then, surprisingly, James chuckles.

"He would never shut up if I told him that, you know."

John's eyebrows furrow, but James only laugh harder, leaning in - close enough to actually give John a little shoulder to shoulder push.

"Grandson?"

And John laughs back - forgetting his embarassment and just enjoying the moment - and feels like he is allowed to push back.

"You wouldn't dare."

When their chuckles subdues, James sounds nothing but serious once again:

"Would you spar with Thomas too?"

John is surprised again. This comes out of nowhere.

"Would  _he_?"

James grins now.

"Definitely. He proposed before I could ask, which I was going to... He had a sword in his hand before he could walk, you know. I've never been able to pass him, back in the days. His technique is lethal. He's worried he's a bit rusty; but when it's all come back? You definitely should train with him too then."

And John understands. It's not only a gesture. It's also about his future - of course, James wants him prepared, if he gets out of here. That Thomas though would be willing to help him too? It's not exactly surprising, now that he knows him; but it's not expected either. And John feels grateful.

"I... I would be honored."

James nods, satisfied.

"Then it's done. But the service is soon to be over; it's going to get crowdy around here... If I'm not mistaken, it's your turn off, right? (*AN:The kitchen crew has to work on sunday too. But one of them is free; they take turn.*) I could meet you up the hill, after Thomas has shaved my head?"

John nods back:

"Sure. I'll be there."

A bit, and then John is giving James a conniving smile - blinding him with some of that old damn assurance James had come to miss.

"I heard Matthew was military. Are you planning to enlist him too?"

James feels  _privileged_. It's been a long, long time since John has felt like showing off somehow indeed.

"I'm transparent to you, I know. But if he ever hears about it and shows interest? Well, you have the last word; but I'd say 'why not?'" 

They are still smiling at each other when Thomas meets back with them.

/

Thomas asks privately a bit later, as they walk hand in hand on, their way to shave James's head:

"I take it it went well?"

James can't help but sigh, relieved. It still feels a bit overwhelming.

"Even better, Thomas. You know it was to make him feel  _accepted_. And it worked. But I had never expected... He felt compelled to  _tell_  me, Thomas - everything I've never dared to ask; and even more... It was... I can't hold any of it against him. And I know he doesn't either - about what I had said..."

"So. You talked. Finally."

"Yes. And I... I gave a push to his shoulder, near nothing; but he... He sort of sat straighter, if that makes sense. And he pushed back, Thomas. He pushed back."

Thomas kisses his hand.

"Of course he did."

A bit.

"He agreed to train with you, too."

"Good. I'm glad to be of help."

"You should know he didn't even hesitate. He  _likes_  you. He genuinely does."

"I never thought I should be under the impression that he did not?"

Thomas knows John hasn't made any effort to get close with anyone new here, besides him; probably because he's still protecting himself. But John  _did_  seek him out, about right away. And even if Thomas knows John just couldn't ignore him - he kind of came with the package - it was still brave of him to do so, and with sincerity... Besides, they understand each other - they have the same priority: James's well being...

"Of course not. I just meant to say that he likes  _you_  - for who you are; not only because you're important to me, or because you remind him of his Madi."

"Well, I like him too for who he is, you know."

He doesn't need to say the rest; they both hear it anyway.

_Not only because he's important to you, or because he reminds me of Miranda..._

 


	15. Chapter 15

**VIII (continued).**

When James arrives up the hill, John is already there.

He seems assured enough when James hands him a sword - taking it in his hand, appraising it, before meeting James's eyes again, wonder evident in his gaze:

"I'm honestly curious you know, about how you could make those?"

(Sharp tools are all under supervision; it's a general rule. Only spoons at the table. Every knife in the kitchen is tied to a wall. Every blade for bathroom uses too. Guards survey while you use any of those; always. And James? He is even labelled 'extra security'; he is not allowed much more than a shovel - and he has to maintain a minimum distance whenever he has it in hand... So it is indeed astonishing that he had been allowed carving tools.)

James feels a smile curling on his mouth as he explains: "Thomas."

John's brows furrow, and James clarifies, conspiratorially.

"He proposed to Oeglethorpe to stay at the mainhouse while I worked - as a guarantee."

The idea only should have felt nauseous. James somehow still smiles nonetheless.

"He promised me to recommend one truly awful book an hour for Oglethorpe to buy. It was somehow an acceptable deal."

John is going to thanks Thomas for this; at least a thousand times, you bet. But right now? John can't help an admirative grin:

"He is wicked, isn't he?"

James chuckles.

"You have no idea."

It's hard to decide if James's voice is more fond or proud; undoubtly both anyway.

James then assesses his own sword, feeling the weight of it in his hand before finding John's gaze again: "Shall we try them, then?"

He feels though that John is still somehow hesitant, and proposes:

"Shall I attack first?"

John is obviously relieved about not having to play the agressor. He gives James a nod as he takes position. And James decides that, at least for now, it will do...

"On three. One, two,-"

The clash of wood against wood is unusual; but all the rest? It feels right enough...

/

They take a break, sharing a bottle.

John is too quiet again, gaze lost on the faraway sea.

"What are we looking at?", James can't refrain from echoing from their past.

"Maroon Island."

John turns to him.

"I have spent so many hours at those cliffs. Watching out for potential enemies ships. But the first time I sent for news? I realized when an answer actually came that I was surprised; like if, unconsciously, I hadn't been expecting you to have stayed here? That's when I realized how all that time I had maybe also been watching out for you; somehow hoping - I don't know, for some resolution? - even if you came hunting for my blood... What were a few walls and a few guards against Captain Flint after all? I couldn't help but cringe at the coward thought - making *you* responsible for your fate; when *I* was the one- I couldn't regret my decision: you lived - possibly hating me - but you lived, and you were loved. But even though I repeatedly told myself that it should be enough, I could finally admit that it was wrong all the same. I couldn't though just tell Oglethorpe I had a change of heart, of course - he might have released you; but not Thomas...

John's voice trails into a silence heavy with 'what if's' James recognizes all too well.

"That's why I used to come to this spot too... Looking at Maroon Island? Wondering about you, and Madi; mostly hoping you were both happy. Thomas understood, obviously. Now that you're here, he doesn't feel like intruding by coming with me. But then? He only came looking for me here if he thought I had been dwelling in my head too long for my own good... But honestly? I wouldn't have gone to the Island. I wasn't thirsting for your blood to start with. And I would *never* have endangered you and Madi by coming around. (sigh) Anyway, this place? It's not the walls, nor the guards, that keep us here..."

John tilts his head. "I came here more than a year and a half ago now. I understand exactly what you mean."

"I thought about breaking free, of course; I had it all planned out, after only a few days. I simply couldn't bear the idea of Thomas being contained like this, while having never done anything wrong. But when I spoke about escaping, he asked me: "And where will we go?" I instinctively answered: "It doesn't matter"; but I realized I had been indeed so focused on planning *how* that I hadn't thought past it. But we couldn't go back to Europe; not only because Thomas might be recognized, but because it would be somehow serving those empires again - any of them, all the same... And showing myself anywhere in the New World meant risking Thomas's life. And not to forget of course that we'd have to pretend for the rest of our lives - no matter where we might end... But then Thomas said: "If it doesn't matter, then we might as well stay where we are." I was speechless. And then I was going to retort; but he told me I still hadn't seen the church - a hint of something in his voice that I recognized... And so we went; and well, you already know what was nailed on its doors...

"One of his pamphlets."

"Indeed."

James is quiet for a short moment; remembering his awe, when he had started to read the page taken from a local newsaper it seemed, and had understood it was Thomas's text - and had it confirmed with a glance. He hadn't been able to stop reading though until he had reached the end, and the signature - the signature had torn his heart out. 'TBMG'. Thomas Barlow Mc Graw.

"I couldn't speak. Trust Thomas to find a way to do Good, no matter what? I had fought so hard to force the world to change; to make a difference. But you can't force people to change at once against their will - it never holds in the long run. But here he was, achieving more maybe by slowly corrupting that system from the inside? It was a tiny step; but it was still a step in the right direction, at least. His ideas were published; read; discussed. You should have seen him when he explained to me how it had come to be - the secrecy, the allies, the countless times he had sent pieces over the wall under the cover of night, his surprise when it had actually paid off... He was proud, but rightly so. And I realized something else. Thomas had been here for years already. He had true friends here; friends he had been longer with than with me, in fact. I hadn't considered them until then: not how hard it might be for Thomas to cut them loose; and not how... he could have moved on - all those years; he should have, maybe... Thomas knows it all, you know... I told him everything; right the first night. And yet... He never *saw* me; saw what I am capable of... Miranda didn't either; she just saw the aftermath, patching me up and- (sigh) You were there. And you feared me. I know you did."

John wants to retort:  _And I'm still here._

But he knows what James is hearing instead: 'The one who has shaped me.' / 'To be both liked and feared all at once is an entirely different state of being.'

And so John also hears what James doesn't say:  _Maybe you still do._

And John knows that somehow, he still does, indeed. Isn't it how you know who you love - when you fear *for* them? And indeed, the less he had come to fear Flint, the more he had come to fear for James... But this would probably not give James any peace...

So, instead, John confesses: "Of course I feared you; I would have been a fool not to. But (it was a new kind of fear, and somehow, I admired you for it - John thinks but doesn't say.) I wanted to be you; I wanted to be feared too (for a change - John keeps to himself again).

And James remembers in a flash, how John - 'I don't want to be a pirate: I'm not interested in the life; I'm not interested in the fighting, not interested in the ships, I don't care much for the sea while we're on the subject' fucking John - had started to learn what it was to be a sailor, all the while wearing a ponytail to match his own... James has no time though to linger on the memories as John continues:

"By the time I realized it came with a price, well... I kept telling myself that all I ever did was to secure my share of that gold we were chasing. (John shakes his head, still in disbelief somehow) Believe me, I was the first surprised when I decided to discard it. But along the way... I had come to care apparently - about the men; and about you. You told me, you know? 'The more those men need you, the more you need them'? You just didn't see then how it included you too; but to me, it did… The crew... It was validating indeed, to be seen and valued, to feel like I belonged. But you... (I wanted you to see me and value me too.) Your validation, somehow, meant more; I had to win it. There were also the undeniable facts that you were hurting, and that I wanted you to hurt *less*, I guess... It had been so for some time, even if I had no clue what had been the tipping point. And it mattered - more than the gold, obviously..."

James now aches. He has no doubt John's words are truth; and once more, it only tears at his heart.  _How could you not *recognize* any of it, John? How come you were so unaware;_ _so blind to your own heart_ _..._  But James has long ago tacitly agreed to let John's demons rest in the past where they lay, and he finds something to say instead of ask.

"I understood it, later on. I understood *you*. When we went for that whale and you told... I wasn't surprised. The thing is, when we had reached Nassau and Rackham had our gold? I was *certain* that it must have been your making. But then, you stayed? So apparently you had no hand in it, and I tried to put the thought aside. But it was still there, that doubt; and the thought was infuriating... But when you confessed? It felt somehow suddenly an even better alternative - to know that you had indeed done it, and had yet chosen to stay... That's when I finally knew, that what I thought I was seeing for some time was in truth the real you."

Everyone wears a mask. It is both a sign of trust and a leap of faith to put it off for someone. (And James is never the first to, mind you...) So. When John had told it all on that sloop, lifting the veil on his pretense? James had known John purely meant to make a point - proving to him that he was just as cunning and manipulating as him. But what James had actually heard was something else entirely...

_You had it, John. Your one big prize. Your safety and freedom - from water, from hunger, from wages; from me. You had it. But you couldn't take it. You told it was because of your leg; but I knew your leg wouldn't have mattered - not with that much gold... The truth was you couldn't bear to have to doubt everything and everyone from that moment on; never knowing what would be genuine, and what would be bought. You wanted to matter - to people. You wanted to be loved..._

_And that's when I realized I wanted it too, indeed - not only shed Flint's persona, show you my true face in return; but simply love you..._

James's thoughts take yet another turn:  _Maybe you should have taken that gold..._

Because James has often wondered, since John has turned up at the plantation, about what John's future might have been, if he *had* made the other choice. He could have been happy, couldn't he? Alone; but carefree. He might not have felt lonely; not by then. And he might have never known of love; probably - but he would never have had to be wounded; never have had to be damaged beyond repair by losing his Madi... James knows *he* wouldn't trade his own hurts, past and present, would he ever be offered the possibility to start anew. This kind of wishful thinking has never crossed his mind about himself. But it is hard not to wish for it for John, somehow; even knowing that John would probably not agree either...

John's voice lures James back to the present once more: "For some time, huh?"

John's sheepish eyes have darted to the ground. He is so openly fishing - a rare occurence: which only shows how much he needs to *hear*; and so James can't deny him:

"The third time you stomped your foot, going on with what I thought was the dumbest plan ever to convince the crew to allow you to remain, and got punched again in return? Well, you were a *thief*, and an *impostor*, but at least you were tenacious, I had to give you that... Besides, you had just saved my life; twice, even; it was a fact hard to overlook, I guess. And it's past due time I thank you for it, by the way."

They share a meaningful gaze, before John shrugs it off: "I probably wouldn't have believed you meant it at the time anyway - you *liar*" - smiling on the last word.

James scoffs, but is interrupted by John hitting him playfully in the ribs with his elbow: "But let's stop listing our shortcomings. (taking his crutch) It is my turn to attack, right?"

James gets up, then hands John his sword when he is standing too.

And for this?  _I do not fear you now._  James is deeply grateful.


	16. Chapter 16

**IX.**

The evening is fresh - air still damp and soil still treachery after some heavy rain - so James takes the opportunity to escort John to his hut. John is troubled - quieter than usual, obviously missing sleep - and James has been waiting for whatever it is to spill over; trying in vain to entice John to confide with patient yet pointed looks for days already...

The short walk seems fruitless again though, as they reach John's porch without any revelation.

"Try to get some sleep," James honestly pleads before taking his leave.

This finally seems to do the trick. John lets out a heavy sigh: "I can't."

_Can't sleep? Or can't try to?_

James turns back towards John, and asks carefully: "Nightmares?"

"I wish." John leans back against the railing, nervously twisting his crutch into the mud, eyes on the ground. "Absence of dreams."

And James understands, of course, and takes a step forward: "Madi."

John nods; hooks the crutch on the railing and rests his hands on it; finds James's eyes again. "Remembering feels  _lacking_. Like I know  _how_  it used to make me feel, but I do not  _experience_  it anymore. Her scent? The weight of her hand in my hand? In my dreams... Everything is much more vivid. It's honestly heartbreaking when I awake; but it's soothing, somehow. To know that she's still (absently hitting his chest) here."

James moves closer, concern etched on his face, and John sighs, defeated. "She  _always_  came, when I asked her to... But last week (his voice falters)... And now I dread awaking, again, and realizing she hasn't come, again..."

"John," James says in a pained yet soft, comforting tone; and John grows agitated, one hand helplessly flailing around, obviously feeling unworthy of any solace, but even more, undeniably hurting, bone-deep: "I don't know what feels worse. It feels like I'm betraying her. And like I'm losing her all over again; this time piece by piece. What will fade away next? Her smile? Her laugh? The way she used to say my name?"

John's voice breaks then, his eyes dropping down again, and James lays a hand on his shoulder, coming closer still.

And he's so close now - so close; unmistakably willing to help - and John *needs*; and recognizes what he needs. This, he has learned from Madi: both the first time she had wordlessly relied on him to soothe her pain (how it had hit him, both her vulnerability and her strength; how poignant, yet warming it had felt, when he had understood what to do in response; and how pure it had felt, when he had closed his arms around her), and the first time he had made himself vulnerable in turn and had relied on her to soothe his pain too... To comfort and to be comforted; to trust and to be trusted; to need and to support. A gift freely given on both sides. A genuine truth. A shared pledge. A commitment: I am here; you are not alone / you are here; I am not alone.

It's not that John didn't trust James enough before - that ship has sailed long, long ago. But now that there's nothing left unsaid between them; now that it doesn't feel like a lie - like he's tricking James, stealing warmth while offering nothing in return; John intrinsically feels like he is finally allowed to just give in.

Before John actually registers what he's doing, his head has slightly tilted forward, until the top of his head rests against James's chest; wordlessly asking - begging - and there is no denying possible, no going back. So his hand that had been cutting air ends clutching at the loose fabric by the waist of James's shirt, and John exhales: "I'm so scared, James."

And James inches yet closer; his hand that had laid on John's shoulder now moving to the nape of John's neck, as John's other hand comes up and grips and pulls at the fabric at the back of James's shirt, and James's other arm closes around John's back, hand running in soothing circles, pressing John even closer as John's head slides up, until his forehead lays flat against James's sternum, and John breathes; breathes in, in, in; hanging on James's calming voice as the lifeline it is.

"Madi had a gentle heart, a sharp mind, a fierce spirit and a strong will. She loved you; with everything she had to give. This, I promise, you won't ever forget."

John doesn't exactly cry, even though he can feel James's shirt getting slightly damp under his closed eyes. This is not about falling apart; it's about finding strength. And with each and every inhale, John somehow believes James's words more and more.

"And she knew you loved her with everything you were; rest assured of that. She'll come to you. Maybe not tonight, nor tomorrow night; you're too anxious, and too exhausted. But she'll come, John. I'm sure she will."

And John nods.

The body holding him should feel all wrong, for multiple reasons - dangerously hard planes, instead of the welcoming soft curves he had used to trust around him. But it's  _James_ ; and so of course it doesn't feel threatening nor constricting: it feels safe; and even more: it feels right. John realizes that this is maybe indeed what he came here for to start with: James truly is his last refuge. And John holds on.

.

_I need a hug too now. Anyone? Please?_

_Also. Now that they’ve reached that place? Time to tackle John’s past. (Needless to say, I will need more hugs, if anyone is willing to hold my hand while going down that dark corridor :()_


	17. Chapter 17

**IX. (continued)**    

 

"Good afternoon John", Thomas calls out. Of course he has heard him approach; between the open door and the beat of his crutch...

When John sees Thomas though, he feels like turning back out: Thomas is sitting by the table, paper in hand, and more paper, ink and quill nearby, ready for use.

"Apologies, I didn't know you were writing..."

"It's all right; do come in. The words do not seem to come today anyway..."

So John gives a nod and approaches. As he sits down though, his breath is knocked out of his lungs by surprise, as Thomas lays the paper that has been in his hand back on the table, and John sees the face of Mrs Barlow. Mrs Hamilton; he corrects himself. Miranda; he corrects himself again.

Any name, anyway; it's her. Undeniably, and perfectly. John remembers in a flash the first time he had seen her; and how curious and astonished he had been; because he had never seen Captain Flint's obliterating and eviscerating eyes looking at  _anyone_  the way he was looking at her - soft?

But now John feels inadequate - obviously, he's intruding.

Before he has a chance to move a muscle though, Thomas's voice is reaching out for John's attention.

"I see you recognize Miranda."

"Yes... I mean... I only saw her a few times, and from a distance, but this is  _exactly_... I had no idea you could draw..."

Honestly, is there anything Thomas isn't gifted at? He hasn't even been around to see her *like that* at the time - she is just as old on paper as when John had known her, and her hair and dress are what she had used to wear in Nassau indeed; nothing fancy enough for a Lady in London... James has surely described everything to Thomas with great care for details, but it is still impressive...

"Oh no- It's not my hand. James drew her for me years ago."

John is surprised again.

"James?"

"Yes. He's pretty secretive about his gift though. For any worth saving there are about fifty in the bin, he always say. I might have never found out if it hadn't been necessary - I ended with a box full of his drawings, related to our plans for Nassau. But it took a lot of persuasion to get him to make one of me and Miranda. He agreed though; once. So I knew I could ask..."

Right then, James comes in.

"You can draw", John tells him as a greeting; wonder evident in the tone of his voice.

James sees Miranda's portrait on the table and shares a look with Thomas.

James has worked on drawing Madi for John; but John has said that he was afraid to forget, and so, after finally having judged a drawing good enough, James has wondered if John would think giving it would mean that he was indeed going to forget, without a reminder; which had never been James's thoughts nor intent... Also, there was the fact that James could only draw Madi, and not their child... Thomas knew about James's struggle; and found a way to solve it, apparently.

James then meets John's eyes.

"Yes."

John's voice is hesitant: "Could you..."

James warns him with a sad sigh: "I can only draw what I saw. I'm sorry."

John isn't thrown though: "Of course. I understand. But would you-"

James spares him the asking: "I have."

John's eyebrows furrow as James goes to the chest and rummages inside. John can't help but stand up, trying to get a closer look. Then James approaches him, and John's world is suddenly reduced to that one sheet of paper in James's hand.

James's voice brings John's eyes upwards again. James seems nervous, and somehow apologizing: "I've been trying for a long time... I just finished this one last week but wasn't sure you'd..." James eyes the paper one last time before finally turning it over towards John: "But of course it's yours, if you wa-."

John's breath stops. He can only stare, following each of every line with clear longing.

But John's nostrils flare, in that particular way that was reserved for Madi, and James knows his drawing is good enough. He is both heartbroken and happy for John, as he just waits for John to take the paper that belongs to him anyway.

After some time, John's eyes move away from the page to meet James's gaze. They are shining, but steady.

"Thank you, James" is all John says before finally taking the drawing with great care and reverence before taking his leave.

/

They are sitting next to each other, looking at Miranda's portrait. James is holding it in his hands, which he rarely does. Thomas has an arm thrown around James's shoulders.

Thomas can pinpoint the exact moment when James's tears come: James puts the page back on the table right away, precautious. Thomas just holds James closer.

"I wish-"

"I know."

"I'm so sorry."

"It wasn't your fault, James."

"I miss her."

"Me too."

Thomas turns, the movement calling James's attention, and their teary gazes meet each other:

"I bet though would she be here she would point at us with an authoritative finger and order us to stop crying."

James gives a short, sad, but real, chuckle: "She would, indeed."

Thomas kisses James's forehead.

"Let's go to bed."

James nods. He has though still one thing to say before they do:

"I guess I should say 'thank you' too."

"You know I always take her drawing out when I write... It was like, two birds with one stone. Besides, she would have been happy to help."

"I know." And it's on both accounts.

Thomas puts Miranda's drawing back in his usual place. James blows out the candles.

They hold each other, finding strength in comforting each other instead of drowning in their own tears.

/

Outside, the stars are shining.

.

_(AN: I know I said I was going to tackle John's past, but this just popped in, and it felt like the exact right place - kind of coda for this arc of the story. I know how much I need my photos, so I wanted John to have one too, somehow... As always, a squeechy hug for all of you who gave/will give any kind of feedback - it's definitely worth the Urca treasure to me :))_

 


	18. Chapter 18

**X. (Months later...)**

There it is again - the  _look_.

And Thomas decides that he has been waiting long enough to see if it would pass, and that it's time for him to talk to James about it...

Because lately, there's been  _a development_. Thomas cannot pinpoint  _when_  things changed; but he knows they did.

It's fairly recent; Thomas thinks. God knows James hasn't noticed any of it yet. Sadly though, John finally has; judging by the guilty, shameful way his eyes just darted away right after...

Maybe it's a side-effect of John's loss? After all, John will most probably  _never_  trust himself again with a woman; not after how he lost his Madi. And John may be friendly enough with everyone, but he's still careful about making new bonds: which means James is - for the moment; maybe for the rest of John's life - the only love John still has; and affection is a natural human need, and comes in many forms... Maybe it has always been there, unconsciously locked under the surface for whatever reason? James had mentioned how  _unformed_  he had come to believe John had used to be; so maybe John simply hadn't recognized it before. Also, Thomas can imagine, but maybe not comprehend, how terrible - how impossible - it might have feel, to fall for the fearsome Captain Flint? Maybe it's both - and finally showing itself now that James and John have cleared the air?

Anyway, no matter the cause, it IS...

And Thomas  _knows_  how love can be  _transformative_  indeed. So. Thomas simply cannot blame John for it - on the contrary. It is not pity, not even kindness; it is simply recognition. Thomas wouldn't be able to live with himself if he kept this knowledge to himself.

There's not that much HE can do though, except lifting a veil... Obviously, the choice will be James's - of course. But Thomas believes it means there won't really be a choice to start with... And honestly, Thomas has accepted it: this is not about him at all...

Breaking the news to James, though, won't be easy...

/

It's under the cover of near-darkness, and taking strength from drawing circles on James's back as James quietly lays half atop of him, that Thomas takes the plunge.

"John told me once that he believed you never had a man after me." James immediately meets his eyes, looking utterly confused at the turn in conversation; and Thomas makes profit of his still-shocked silence to push on: "He meant it as a gift, but I need to know: was he right?"

James's eyes turn soft as he brings Thomas's hand to his mouth and kisses it, apparently misreading the question for a need for reassurance of some kind: "Of course."

Thomas feels like slapping himself, but still pushes on - simply because he has to.

"Were you afraid history might repeat itself?"

James is surprised again: "What?"; and this time pushes up and away in order to see Thomas better, concerned: "No."

"Were you clinging to an ideal of me because-?"

"What?!" Now there's even worry too along the confusion: "No!"

"Then how come-?"

James now sits up, alarmed and troubled and by now even hurt by Thomas's unrelenting perseverance in the matter: "My Thomas? Are you seriously suggesting that I do not know my own feelings? I didn't want any other man because I wanted *you*, is that so incomprehensible?"

Thomas sits up too, slowly bringing a gentle hand to graze along James's cheek: "You thought me dead."

James holds Thomas's hand where it is, leaning into it. "And yet, still, I wanted you. And I couldn't have you, so I wanted no one. Why are you-"

A dreadful look, now; and Thomas definitely hates himself for it: "Do  _you_  have something you want to confess?"

"No, James, I don't." Thomas hurries to say, bringing his other hand to James's face. "And I didn't even  _care_  about trying to find out if I still could with anyone else before you came here, in case you now wonder." Thomas sighs, letting go of James's face: "I'm just trying to understand..." Thomas takes a breath; holds James's eyes: "What about John?"

James's brows furrow as his head tilts to the side: "Is this about *John*? Now? Two years ago I might have understood; but now?"

Thomas nearly confesses. _I knew you loved John even before meeting him - it was obvious, the way you talked of him - and you've said it so many times even before you ever actually said it._   _But actually *seeing* you with him?_ _Two years ago, I used to wonder if you kept from touching him because you were afraid of wanting more from it._ _And it has been satisfying indeed, to get proof later on that it wasn't._ But two years ago, nothing was as it is now...

"I'm not jealous", Thomas says; and it is, truly, not a lie. "It's just- I know you loved him then. And he was there. And he loved you. Are you telling me you never considered *anything* with him?"

"If you mean- No." It's definitive; and Thomas doesn't doubt that it is the truth. James holds his gaze for some time before shrugging somehow. "I never felt he might want me in that way to start with anyway." And Thomas knows how that is the key, indeed, for James. "But", James continues, the usual sort of melancholy in his voice when he dwells in the past, "I did consider his  _companionship._  Once. I was grieving Miranda, and he had just lost his leg. I was at my worst, and he was at his most vulnerable - and yet that's when he truly opened up to me. So yes, I considered it. I was alone, and so was he; and we seemed to work. So I thought we could be damaged together; find solace in each other... But then; he met Madi. And he always watched her with such blatant, raw  _need_. They were ... Pure. Pure and true, Thomas. I couldn't not want that for him."

Thomas nods; squeezes one of James's hands. "Is that when you knew, how much you loved him: letting him go?"

"No. I already knew I had grown to actually love him." James sighs. "And yet, I still didn't know how much. That only came when I believed him dead."

"What!?" It's Thomas's turn to be surprised indeed. "You never told-"

James kind of shrugs. "It wasn't worth mentioning; it had no effect on the grand scheme of things - unlike..."

"Madi's."

"Yes."

Thomas runs his fingers onto James's hand soothingly.

"How long-"

"Two days. We all thought he had drowned."

To think about how James must have felt; again? Him; then Miranda; then John? How many times can a heart break before it's beyond mending? It brings tears to Thomas's eyes. "I'm so sorry, James."

"I'm not. He's alive. You're alive. I've been more lucky than I deserve; and twice."

James lets a hand run along Thomas's cheek, and it's Thomas's turn to lean into it.

_And so, you had to witness the both of them grieving the other. Twice even, as far as he is concerned. On top of your own grief..._

"Is that why you're so protective of him? I know you're naturally enclined to be, but with him? It seems more..."

"It's hard to explain. It was like that, even before. Since the moment I started to see past the overconfident armour he seemed to wear, I couldn't help but feel that he needed it *more*. You know how he's just ... a mess ... within. Madi's death made it even worse; but he was, a mess; even before he lost his leg. I think maybe that's how he's always been, in fact..."

"You would do *anything* for him, wouldn't you."

James shrugs; definitely more helplessly than casually this time. "Probably..."

Thomas takes a deep breath.

"James, I think you should know that I believe that he might have come to want... something else, too... with you... At least, he's curious; I think."

James's brows furrow, and James actually blinks when he understands what Thomas means.

"What are you-? He loves me. I know he does. But he doesn't look at me-"

Thomas can't help but cut in.

"But that's it, don't you see? I know he doesn't look at you. But lately? There's been a change in the way he looks at  _me_. And I know that look. It's how I used to watch you, with Miranda. Not before you and me - then I was watching you, indeed. But after? I was watching you because I had come to wonder, I suddenly realized, how it was to  _be_  you. To  _be with her_."

James infinitesimally leans closer, as if tangibly feeling Thomas's longing and willing to soothe it away; and Thomas sighs.

"You know how MUCH I loved her. But we had an early agreement; because I wasn't attracted to women in that way, and it felt wrong to condemn her to a life without physical satisfaction just because she would be married to me... I always knew when she had lovers, and who they were, and I was fine with it all. But then she took you. And then I had you, too. And seeing you together, I started to wonder, about how it would be to know her, physically, too. The idea was shocking, but I couldn't deny that there was some logic to it anyway. It was  _her_. Of course I wanted - I couldn't tell *what* nor *how* exactly; but of course I wanted. What felt shocking instead then was that I hadn't had such an epiphany years ago to start with... I never got the time though to muster the courage. It all unraveled so quickly, and... and she's gone, and she never knew I... and I'll never know..."

James hugs him then; holds him close, anchors him, until he's found again the strength to be on his own.

"She would always laugh, if I ran my fingers right there (along the hipbone)", James says, sad yet clear.

Thomas's brows furrow and his lips part, but James stops his protest.

"It's all right for you to know. I know it's never the same because it's born from two people, and she might have been different with you than how she was with me. But I know she would have been honored to share this part of herself with you. She loved you, Thomas. Both so fiercely and so selflessly."

Thomas sort of nods, and James continues.

"She enjoyed being the one in control, even though this probably goes without saying." Thomas has to smile. "She generally used her hands more than her mouth, everywhere, but she always had to nip at my ears at some point. Her nipples weren't sensitive, but she very much enjoyed it when I ran my tongue along the underside of her breasts. Her neck and her wrists were very responsive."

James lets out a heavy sigh.

"It wasn't the same; without you. Nothing was the same; after we thought you dead."

James's voice breaks, but he pushes through.

"I loved her. I loved her  _so much_. And she had only done what you had asked of her - I knew it; yet I couldn't help but resent her for it somehow. There were times I simply couldn't bear to be in her presence. I've left her alone, so often. I'm certain she took lovers, even though she never told. I was raging at sea, and I wanted her safe; but she was, mostly, alone. And when I was around? I was a ghost, mostly. Or shouting at her. And maybe that was even worse than being alone. But she stayed, Thomas. She kept her promise to you. And I wish I could tell the same but I can't. Because I failed her. Even before the end. I loved her, and I failed her. So many times."

Thomas keeps a strong hand at the base of the back of James's neck, as always when this particular grief comes out. It's nothing he hasn't heard several times before, except from the mention of her other lovers, but it still makes sense; and he aches so much from it - every time; on both their accounts.

"She stayed because she wanted to. She loved you too, James. I know she loved you too."

They both cry for awhile; the grief still raw, no matter the years, in both their hearts.

And when they finally quiet down, Thomas hangs against James's forehead, holding James's head close as his eyes bore into James's, and simply say: "Watch him watch me, and we'll talk it through. But let us not fail him too." And the only thing James can do is hold on.

.

 _AN: I won't say this is a present because it's a mess - all the complicated emotions; it's just too much, sometimes, and everything hurts. But_ _I wish you all in advance a nice Xmas holiday/time._

 


	19. Chapter 19

_(Angry declarations of love are still, well, declarations of love...)_

**XI. (Weeks later...)**

"Thomas believes... I think... Do you... If you - you should know it would be all right - if you... "

James is pacing back and forth through John's room, waiting for the right words to come out in the right order, except there  _are_  no right words, and no right order: how do you tell someone... What if Thomas is wrong...  John is watching Thomas after all, right... And so, when he finally blurts out a full sentence, it's: 

"I'd understand, if you wanted a more personal relation with Thomas."

John is surprised yet quiet, like unbelieving, as his only reaction is to repeat: "If I *wanted*-"

"Yes."

"You'd undestand."

"Yes."

And John doesn't really tell anything; but James only hears that John  _isn't_  refuting.

So. He had been right, and Thomas had been wrong. In a flash, James realizes he feels, actually, disappointed. And jealous, somehow, no matter how much he wills not to. About them  _both_ , in fact. It isn't surprising about Thomas; but about John? Thomas is to blame for having put ideas in his head that shouldn't be, huh... But James understand too that it doesn't matter. This is not about him, indeed. And if John needs Thomas, then how could James ever deny him his acceptance...

James takes a breath, tries for a joke, somehow, trying to get John to say something: "I mean, isn't it a puzzling wonder how the whole world  _doesn't_  want Thomas?" John doesn't laugh though; it was not funny anyway. James sighs. "Not that I want everyone to, of course... But with you... I wouldn't object."

"You wouldn't object."

James sighs. Having his own words echoed and repeating 'yes' indefinitely isn't going to move things further: "You are  _very dear_  to me John, you know that. If you need... Anything. Everything. There's nothing I wouldn't do; nothing I wouldn't give; if it was in my power-"

John makes a face, swallowing: "You mean it."

How many times does he have to- "Yes."

John stands up: "I'm going to speak to Oeglethorpe."

James can't believe his ears; but he is suddenly very happy to be luckily standing between John and the door. Because what this implies is just... *wrong*: "You're not leaving."

"Excuse me?"

"You're NOT leaving."

"Oh that's *grand*, coming from-"

"Don't you!- I know what I've told you. And I *do* want you to leave this place, but when YOU WANT to; not because you're running away from us. Have you even heard  _one_  word from what I've just said-"

"Of course I have, and that's exactly why I HAVE to run away from YOU!"

Time stops, as John's mouth clenches shut, and it dawns on James's mind that this 'you' isn't plural.

"Oh", is all James can say, blinking.

John closes his eyes; and it's an admission in itself. He has rarely looked so defeated.

"Thomas was right", James can't help but let out, still in wonder.

John sighs, laughing self deprecatingly shortly through it: "Is there anything Thomas is ever wrong about..."

He finally looks at James again, and his eyes are nothing but determined: "Nevermind. You DON'T have a say in what  _I_  decide; and I've decided to do what I should have done a long time ago anyway - find whatever's left of that damn treasure and get the two of you out of here."

"And what? Die trying? Well, if that's your solution I will not have it." James clenches his fists, hard; trying to calm down. "John. Please." James moves forward, aiming for John's hand: "I'm here. You don't need to run away from us." And this time, James means him and John.

John backs up, escaping any contact: "There can be no  _us;_ not in that way. I do not want to want you. I  _cannot_  want you. How can you even suggest- It would be betraying everyone; everything. Betraying Thomas's trust; your trust; the beautiful,  _meaningful_  love you share. Betraying Madi; betraying mys-.  _Abusing_  Thomas's kindness; and worst of it all it would be abusing YOU! How can you even  _think_  I would even  _contemplate_  you prostituting yourself out of misplaced pity! I'd rather have you hate me than love me that much."

James is taken aback. He had expected resistance, as John obviously hasn't be willing to breach the subject to start with over the last months; but this? His voice turns _soft_ : "John. Do not pretend NOT to know that I DO love you THAT MUCH. It's not _pity_. Of course I want you. How can you  _think_  it would be pity? I know I never- but that was before you- John, in what realm could I ever know you want me and NOT want you back. Don't you remember what I told you - that night we buried the cache? Miranda? Thomas? I've never been the pursuer, John... Always the pursuee. If you want me... Believe me, John: if you want me then I want you, it's as simple as that."

John is now nothing but furious though: "Stop it, James. You have _Thomas_. Do NOT pretend I do NOT know that he is  _everything_  to you... While, to boot, I'm but a crippl-"

James can't help but shout back: "Oh no! Don't you  _dare_  bring your fucking leg into this; and let's this be my last warning on the matter." He takes a deep breath. "Don't you  _see_ , John. I *can* want you, probably, right exactly  _because_  I have Thomas. When I thought him lost... But Thomas isn't lost to me now. He  _is_  everything; indeed, everything I ever wanted and ever will want. But  _you_  used to be everything too, John; everything I had left. And do not pretend it doesn't mean anything too. But what I feel for you has never and will never diminish what I feel for Thomas, and vice versa. The one has nothing to do with the other. But I know I am everything you have left, John. And I am sorry for your loss, and you know it, more than I could ever say. I would never intend to repl- Madi was and still is  _everything_ to you. I know it, and I respect it. But I'll be damned if I didn't save you, as you saved me. And before you try and twist those words: I wouldn't be damned because I wouldn't have paid a debt; but because *I. love. you*; and if there's one thing I've learned, John, is that letting down the ones you love is the most unforgivable thing of all."

They're both out of breath, eyeing each other, apparently unrelenting; even though their gazes are more pained than angered, after mentioning both their losses.

But John keeps quiet, finally; and that's maybe an admission in its own too. 

James moves again forward.

And this time, John lets him.

"Please, John. All I'm asking for is a chance; at least."

James extends a hand, cautiously; then lets it slide gently along John's cheek - marvelling at the touch, and yes, indeed, if this is allowed then he wants it, oh, he wants it: "John."

John leans into his hand - before turning his head the other way; but instinctivally, before turning away, he *did* lean in; and that knowledge is both painful and incentive, heartbreaking and arousing.

"John", James calls out again softly as John still refuses to look at him.

John's eyes keep to the ground: "I need to speak to Thomas. Not that- I know you would never be here without his blessing to start with; but-"

And James can only hope this means John will not leave, and gladly relents: "Of course, John. I'll get him."


	20. Chapter 20

**XI. (part 2)**

John is nervously pacing back and forth when Thomas walks in. He stops right away, eyes locking with Thomas's.

"I'm sorry, Thomas. I never intended-"

"I know, John."

Thomas looks at him with kindness; but it slices through John deeper than a knife.

"How can you even look at me? How can y-"

"John, let's sit down and-."

"He loves YOU", John ends in a shout, firmly pointing a finger to boot.

Thomas's voice stays quiet; it only makes it sound more authoritative in contrast.

"I know. But I know he loves you too. I've always known; how much he loves you. So. If I was to be jealous of anything, don't you think it should be about your actual place in his heart, instead of his possible place in your bed?"

Thomas then sits on the nearby chair, gesturing for John to do the same on said bed.

"John; please, sit down."

John sighs, defeated. He owes Thomas that much after all, at the least, indeed: a real conversation. He sits down, facing Thomas's eyes and holding their gaze.

Thomas nods: "Thank you."

"You weren't supposed to find out. I swear-"

"I believe you, John. And I understand you're upset, but I won't have you apologize. You are not to blame. I know you haven't  _planned_  for this to happen when you came here. But it happened; so we'll work it out - the three of us together. It's possible, John. You know we already made it possible once."

John shakes his head firmly: "It's not the same."

"Why? Don't tell me you think that Miranda being a woman changed anything about the situation?"

"Of course not. It's not the same because you loved them both; and they both loved you. But you have no reason to accept; you  _shouldn't_  be accepting... me. I have nothing but this *betrayal* to offer in return. I only take, Thomas; like a fucking thief."

It is Thomas's turn to shake his head in retort: "John. You are everything but a thief, and if someone has a debt to repay? It is me to start with. I apologize because I'm going to be cruel; but I think that's necessary. How would you feel towards the man who would bring your Madi back to you?"

Despite the warning, it still hurts. But the truth at its chore is nothing but certain. "I would lay down my life for him if needed."

"There you go", Thomas breathes, as if it just settles everything.

John has to argue: "It still doesn't make it right though."

Thomas looks at him with intent: "There is no right or wrong in love anyway, John - at least not when love is true, of course. Only what is and what isn't. And not only did you bring him back to me, you've also kept him alive. You've saved him, again and again. You were there and protected him, when I wasn't. There are no words for how much I owe you."

John has to put things straight.

"You owe me nothing, Thomas. I didn't save him for you. I saved him for the gold; and then I saved him for his sake, because it was my own too. Even at the end, Thomas. It was for him. It was for me. But it wasn't for you. You were  _what he wanted_  - a concept, a shadow... It wasn't for you."

"And yet, the only fact that matters to me is that you did. (pause) Besides, your judgment is very biased, John. Love makes us both very selfless and very selfish at the same time. I am not as altruistic as you believe me to be. I would do anything for James's sake, sure. But this is also for me. I have a very personal reason to not only accept but even be pleased by the unexpected turn of event; and honestly? It is what weighs the most... I do not accept this for your sake, believe me; if it can make it easier. You do not owe me anything either."

John's eyebrows furrow. Thomas explains, eyes wandering in the past.

"I never thought them dead, you know. And it has kept me alive through hell. Even when I was told I was officially dead, and I lost any hope of them ever finding their way back to me? There was solace, still, in imagining them alive and well. Where were they? What did they do?"

Then Thomas's gaze comes back to the present, hooking on John's like a vice.

"But James lost me once, John. I will fight with all I have for him not to have to lose me again. But I'm the oldest. Not by far; but still, I am. And if I fail? If I fail I'd very much like to know the two of you are as close as two persons can be, so that you can pull him out of it."

John feels surprised. That's a side track he hasn't seen coming for sure. But somehow, it actually makes sense - much more sense than any other reason.

Thomas pushes his point: "Don't you see, John? It's not a gift; at least if you still want to think it's a gift, then you should know it's poisoned. You're the youngest, John. Even with your leg? Most chances are you'll outlive us both; and I'm counting on it. It isn't fair to you. It's rotten work. It's a burden. But I trust you with it, John. Because you've put him first before. Bringing him here? Cutting him loose?"

John feels... unworthy of Thomas's trust on the matter, to say the least. "Well... I missed him, indeed. But it couldn't matter. He was alive, and loved.  _That_ 's what mattered. (sigh) I was always going to lose him anyway, Thomas. He wasn't really expecting to stick around. So I simply chose to lose him on my terms; because it was a far better option than having him be taken away from me by the death lurking around every corner. I'm sorry Thomas; but I believe you put too much faith in my abilities to keep him alive. I barely managed at the time; and I only won in the end because YOU were in the balance to start with."

Thomas dismisses John's troubles though. "He missed you too. Believe me; he missed you too. And you forget to take something into account. At the time? He knew you had someone to take care of you, John. He could be reckless, and careless, because he reckoned Madi would pull you through. His judgement was flawed, I agree; but not entirely wrong, and you know it. And I'm sorry as things turned out to be, but now? Now, he sees taking care of you as *his* reponsability. He would never let you down, John. He'd crawl and fight his way out of any hole, no matter how deep; for your sake. I'm betting on this too; and I believe history makes me a fair judge of James's devotion."

And what can John retort to that?

Thomas seems to sense progress, if not yet victory, as John finally keeps silent.

"So. I know you don't want to be taken care of; but I hope you'll continue allowing him to do it all the same. And, speaking about this? Your leg. I know you don't want him to worry. But if you ever need anything, John - any kind of help tending to it or whatever? You come to me. I never offered before because I didn't want to trespass a line. But I've learned recently that he lost you once too, John. And so I have to cross that line. You must be careful, John. For his sake, please do come to me; if necessary."

John holds Thomas's gaze for a long moment. Again, what can he retort to that? He nods.

Thomas gives him a fragile smile.

"Good. See? In the whole, John, nothing is changing much, you know. We always had an agreement, hadn't we? So let's just continue to do what's best for James, right?"

Silence, again.

"You make it sound so simple."

"Because it is, John."

Another silence.

There is one obstacle yet. One that has nothing to do with Thomas, nor James; but one that John *has* to mention, no matter how much he'd rather not. It is simply his best shot at having Thomas realize how much this would only be a very bad and bound to fail idea anyway...

"You don't understand, Thomas. Even if I... agreed? I don't think I can... Physically, I mean."

Thomas doesn't even blink. He inches forward, his voice pitched low and gentle: "But you want. Something... closer?"

John wants to refute; but he knows Thomas knows it would be a lie. But the true answer doesn't come out verbally either. John can only nod.

Thomas gives him an encouraging smile, if anything; and leans back again.

"Then there is your answer, John. I know it can seem... strange? paralyzing? - knowing you want, but not knowing what or how. I stood in your shoes once; about Miranda... Too late though. But I came to realize... It doesn't have to be everything or nothing, you know. Shouldn't there be more than plenty in the whatever in between? If you need his hand in your hand then have it; his arms around you then have them. If you need a kiss then have it. If you need something more then have it too, whatever it might be. But if it bothers you; thinking there are things you might not want - not now? not ever?... Well... Trust me: as for now, and for always if I have a say in it, James has me anyway, for anything he might want. But to start with: James isn't looking for performances, or whatever. Just give him whatever feels right to give him. Believe me: for James? whatever you give will always be enough. (pause) When we rekindled? There were issues; physically, as you say. Our bodies weren't reacting as they used to. We were grieving. We were worn out. And I had... triggers; from my time in Bethlem. It took time, and will, to overcome them. It never bothered him, John. If anything; he felt more sorry for me than for himself... He's not expecting anything, John. He's just willing to take it in stride as you go."

Well. That surely didn't go as planned, huh...

Silence, once more.

"Anything else you think we should address?", Thomas finally asks.

"I'm certain there should be more; but for now... I think I need to think?"

Thomas nods.

"Of course."

Thomas stands up.

John stands up too, finding Thomas's eyes and holding them.

"Thank you for even coming to talk to me; and thank you for your honesty, Thomas, as usual."

Thomas gives him yet another fragile smile.

"You have the right to live, John. And you have the right to find solace, and even happiness. And I'm sorry to speak of her yet again, but I am positive your Madi would tell you the same if she could..."

John's nostrils flare; but he doesn't deny anything.

"Also, I would miss you very much, if it came to that; and I can only hope you'll consider my preference on the matter too."

Thomas then gives him a firm nod, and leaves.

Silence.

John can't help but whisper to the closed door as he sits back down: "I would have missed you very much too, Thomas."

And yes, John notices he has just used the third conditional.

Thomas is bright as an angel; yet the devil's best advocate, it seems.


End file.
